Survived By
by Pilgrimage
Summary: AU. Post-Suicide Attempt. Camaya in College. Maya and Cam reunite at a local bar, where Maya works to make ends meet. They both appear to have moved on from high school and the events that had moved Cam back to Kapuskasing and left Maya home bound. There are countless reasons why they can't reconnect, but neither of them can deny the pull of things left unsaid and unresolved.
1. Prologue

_**A/N: I recommend listening to Max Richter's On the Nature of Daylight to this prologue of the story. **_

* * *

**May 25, 2013**

When Maya thinks of her first time, it's all sighs and flashes of his warm eyes. However, most of what is vivid to her about the day it happened are the moments afterward, with the remembrance of choosing to do the right thing and how it did not save her from the crushing reality of losing him. What she attempts to do on the days she allows the memories to come back is cling to the good from the day she left Campbell Saunders, surviving and hopeful, heartbroken. Whatever good is left. Maybe the fact that he was just left surviving.

Maya stood bleary-eyed and hesitant by his hospital room doorway. She had no real plans to visit him in the middle of the night, but she had had a terrible dream of him actually dying, the way he intended in the first place. When she moved forward without greeting him, she threw her arms around him, crowding him in bed. He told her he was here, and somehow his gentle caresses heated her skin. He protested her request for him to touch her, nervously eyeing the door she had left slightly ajar, but then she whispered desperately near his ear, telling him her fears. When she returned from closing his bed curtains, he tried a chaste kiss over her wet, salty lips, whispering his promises, but even he couldn't deny that his skin was just as fiery.

She didn't have to ask him twice.

_He's all sighs and warm eyes._

At dawn, when she hears the midnight nurse cursing to another one about her too long nap just outside his room, she narrowly escapes a severe lecture on family visitor rules. Luckily, it's Nurse Sam, who is a sometime unprofessional sap about young love, letting her leave only with a final warning.

It took her half an hour to get home from the bus stop outside of the hospital. It took her another half an hour to bus to the public skating arena near the school. Then there's the time she took to lace up the skates that she hadn't worn in two years when her father first purchased them. By the time she was gliding through the middle of the rink, she wondered when Cam would wake up to his empty hospital bedroom.

_His sighs, sharing her sighs. His warm eyes, her wet ones._

She remembers shivering from the fresh memory of their nakedness, and how new she felt as she sliced through the middle of the ice rink again. Making a wide, lazy circle over the ice, she tilted her head up, closing her eyes, to dream up a night sky above her. He took her under the stars once, where they had just looked up and talked about nothing and everything. Her imagined twinkling stars weren't as bright as she remembered, so she blinked her fantasy away, and skated on.

It should've felt romantic, it should've all felt terribly romantic, like the movies Tristan and Tori made her watch with them from time to time. There was that one movie with the guy blasting music from an ancient-looking boom box outside the girl's bedroom window; they laughed about that a lot, though they swooned even more. So, she wondered why she was quick to leave Cam's embrace. He was warm and even the unflattering fluorescent light that flickered over him could not obscure how beautiful and peaceful he looked fast asleep. She supposed it was the fact that he looked so beautiful, so peaceful. It reminded her too much of how she found her mother before she died. _Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch,_Ms. Dawes had once recited in English class, and it was painfully fitting that it looped over and over again, weaving through other thoughts she strained to distract her.

She returned to him in a daze much later in the day, telling him she went skating, telling him that she knows why he skates regardless of the pressures he faces on the ice, when he skates for himself. She remembers his wide smile and his gratefulness for 'getting him'. But, Maya could not bring herself to smile back, and he only appeared to be concerned for a moment before he started complaining about the chilly temperature of his room.

In fact, he remained almost too blissful for the rest of her visit. Even when he wrapped a red ribbon around the charm bracelet he had given her months ago, as he told her he had read about red strings that tie people together by fate (from a magazine she had read to him one morning while he was recovering on his first day awake), even when he offered her the most sincere commitment he had ever made to anyone about his health, she told him, "What does it matter?"

"Maya, _I promise_." His resolve finally starts to crack, his too wide smile weakening.

"No!" She cried abruptly, startling him. "No, you can't. No one can promise _that_." And the practiced words she had been rehearsing to herself since his attempt in the greenhouse came freely.

He was in tears almost immediately, as if he had been anticipating this, and she recalls her fleeting plea for time to repeat so she could take back the breakup speech, but she continued, cringing at the sound of the words grating in her head, "I'm sorry, Cam, but this doesn't mean you're fixed. This doesn't mean you're never going to feel this way again. This doesn't mean that things won't get worse. Things _always_ get worse."

She saw him struggle before he hurriedly assured her of his newfound stability, though she already moved from her seat next to him, standing at the foot of his bed. "P-pl-please," he tried through his spluttering, and she wondered what her eyes looked like if he feared what he saw in her just then.

"I'm sorry," she said through her own tears, covering her face. "I'm sorry I can't," she finished, and then she ran, bumping past an unforgiving nurse who did not share the same sentiments of Nurse Sam.

The rink was full by the time she came back, full of families and couples she knew and strangers. She smiled some, brushed off her disheveled appearance to friends she noticed from school, and sat alone in the bleachers, continuing her internal monologue. _What does it matter that her mother's prognosis promised a real life, if it was ultimately shortened without notice? What does it matter that Cam survived, when there was still a lingering sadness in his voice?_

She remembers contemplating the guy with his boom box in that movie again, remembering the way she crooned her desires for 'a guy like that', which Tori seconded. _But, they aren't real, and these situations aren't real_, she mused. And soulmates are for people who ignore how much distance there actually is between two people who love each other. And red strings of fate are beliefs for people who forget the pain there is when lines are easily severed by simply living or dying. At fourteen, she wanted to scold herself for her pessimism, find a silver lining, and be done with it. But, then losing her mother and not causing, but most definitely missing signs of her boyfriend's almost successful suicide attempt in a span of her freshman year may not have that glimmering horizon she hopes for.

After a summer of true radio silence, she remembers asking Mike Dallas about Cam leaving for his real home at the start of her sophomore year. She remembers she tried her best to bite back tears because she had to find out through _Mike Dallas_. The gnawing regret that had been dormant since leaving him in the hospital hit her too hard when he told her that Cam definitely did not leave any farewell messages, written or electronic or otherwise.

It took a week of throwing away everything that reminded her of him in her room (it almost looked as though she were moving away near the end of the clean up, with a number of boxes and empty space). And all this work made her realize the glaring truth about herself. She was and always would be a sentimental person at heart, even if she still cringed at Niners who talked about true love, even if she scoffed at the idea of forever-long promises, even when they take down his Ice Hound jersey from the glass cabinet in the main lobby, and she did not shift in the slightest. She's the kind of person who wears charm bracelets braided with red ribbon with more meaning than she has left people to believe. And when people dare to ask, she's the kind of person who does not have the courage to completely discredit its value, even finding a spot on her dresser for it where it would always beckon a memory of him, especially on mornings she would wake and almost forgets he's gone.


	2. Remember Us

**A/N: The 'original' song sung by Maya is actually Bittersweet Melodies by Feist, and is actually a really great listen.**

* * *

**October 7, 2016**

Maya doesn't mind working at Woody's too much; the tips are great on account of inebriated college guys and sometimes she's allowed to sing her original music on open mic nights. Her coworkers, waitresses like herself, complain; they complain about the rotten attitude of some customers, the clean up, and even the get up. They are all dressed similarly, with cowboy boots and shorter shorts than she's used to (Maya gets away with wearing a deceiving, functional skort). And they all praise her work ethic. She simply shrugs, singing, _bills, bills, bills_. Most days she doesn't mind the hustle and bustle of two dollar pitcher nights, with the same consistent crowd—the rowdy hockey team from the university and their bunnies that follow. _Most days._

The exceptional day she feels the heat and the unbearable layer of sweat on her back, is the day that Campbell Saunders follows the hockey team inside the bar, when he's supposed to be home, thousands-of-kilometers-north-Kapuskasing-home.

"May!" Jessica cries, waving a hand in front of her dazed expression. "May, hello, Maya! Bossman needs you on the mic in five minutes. Give me your tray; I'll get your table instead. I see that cute goalie sitting alone there. Wish me luck!" And with a wink, a shove, and a strong shot of whatever Jessica had on her tray, Maya moves. Her grip on the guitar she picks up on the way feels slippery.

She's reminded of her first time on Woody's stage when she finally makes her way on to the makeshift stage, she feels every creak and snap of the raised, wooden square underneath her. It's when she sees him in the corner of her vision that she takes a deep breath, and murmurs a calming mantra about finding one person to concentrate on.

It's Cam, she realizes, whom she's chosen to concentrate on, and it's too late to look away as he's staring right back at her. He seems jolted by the eye contact, but it's such a fleeting moment that she wonders if she had imagined it because he turns to face the people he's sitting with. Jessica appears in her line of sight, waving frantically at her to start singing. So, as if her friend had pulled the proper trigger, Maya's mouth moves without fully processing her own lyrics, and her fingers strum a song she's been playing off by heart for years, though this would be the first time she's sung it out loud.

_I remember us  
'fore we turned to dusk  
Just when these feelings were all about  
When we still could trust in our hearts_

_Bittersweet melody  
Like a sweet memory  
Bittersweet melody  
Can't go back, I can't go on  
Both of us singing that same old song_

She doesn't reach the women's bathroom soon enough, splashing her face with ice-cold water, gripping the bathroom countertop as if it's an anchor. She sets her Timex to the five-minute break Dan, Bossman, has offered her. She's staring at her reflection when it occurs to her that she's no longer _that_ girl—the fifteen-year-old girl, blushing and stammering at the thought of the opposite sex. No, she's different now. At least, she's been assured enough times of her newfound winsome appeal and easy confidence. But, even as she takes her damp hands to comb through the longer curls she's been taught to style attractively, blinks to make her contacts less dry in her eyes, and adjusts the skirt that hugs the curves she's grown into, she has managed to morph her reflection into her lanky, shaking teenage counterpart.

At least, she's not tripping on anything, she reminds herself as she attempts to relax once she's out on the floor again. She avoids Cam's table like the plague, thanking Jessica, her new savior of the night, for taking it from her. It's almost as if he isn't there as she busies herself with her routines and regulars who distract her with their stories.

However, not even Jessica could help her through her entire shift. Not even when a stranger starts waving her over to Cam's table. There are three people at his table, the brunet that's calling her over, a girl that looks similar to the brunet, and Cam, the only person her eyes are trained on as she approaches them. And as she approaches them, speculating on how she's possibly given herself away (maybe from ineffectively hiding her lingering glances between waiting her other tables) she draws a blank on escape routes.

Then her legs give way.

She _is_ fifteen years old again. Her hands move frantically over Cam's jeans, rubbing her towel over the spot she's spilled the draft beer she meant to give another customer. She's about to apologize for her clumsiness again, but his hands stop her. She stops too, and her eyes shoot him a furtive look, not from the contact, but from what his fingers are tangled in. She helps him untangle himself from a worn-looking charm bracelet, some of its silver gleams from underneath a mismatched red ribbon that's braided over it.

"We've been coming here a lot since the semester started, but we've just pried the truth out of Cam. That he knows you!" The guy, who introduces himself as Thomas, and the pretty girl next to him as Lindsay, tells her. "We're fans."

"My brother's a _huge_ fan," Lindsay emphasizes, making Thomas roll his eyes, though he's flushing noticeably. Maya does not miss the way she leans next to Cam. "But, Cam never comes with us, this is your first time here, right?"

Cam clears his throat, and helps Maya up. "I—uh—yes. Hi." He scratches the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at Maya.

Maya has to smile at this, and it's enough of a familiar memory, his nervous habit, for her to relax her squared off shoulders. "Hi."

"Hun," Maya does not miss this endearment from Lindsay, and certainly not the way Lindsay's hands find Cam's arm as she holds him. "Drinks."

"Oh," Maya starts, "Jessica is your—"

Lindsay ignores this and starts to rattle off their drink order, leaving Maya no choice but to jot it down, asking her to repeat the order again when Thomas interjects with off-topic compliments on her song-writing abilities. By the end of it all, the waiting on an extra table because of Lindsay's insistence, Thomas taking her aside to ask about possibly singing for a café he works at, hearing about Cam's new volunteer work at the local ice rink (though Lindsay cuts him off about his father pushing him to move back to Toronto to get back on a competitive team at Maya's university), Maya is exhausted.

"I'm not in the mood, Jess!" Maya whips her head around to see Cam who is startled by her outburst.

"Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Were you going to tell me you moved back?" Maya is just as surprised at her forwardness as he is.

Cam bows his head a moment before looking at her again, shuffling his feet. "I'm sorry. I should've told you."

Maya moves him out of the way as Jessica shoots her an annoyed glare at her idle standing. They stand by the only spot of the bar that's not occupied by the rest of the hockey team. They're moved closer together by other customers at the bar too, and the drink tray she's clinging to is her only barrier between them.

"No, it's fine. It's been what-almost two or three years now?"

"Three."

"You don't owe me anything," she says flatly.

Cam is silenced, and she almost regrets her tone. It's then that she really takes him in, realizing he's the same and he also isn't. His hair is short, shorter than she remembers, his fringe no longer skims his brows or his ears, and he's much taller, at least a head taller than her now; that's the difference. If it wasn't for the hockey jacket (with an Ice Hound logo traded in for a Blues logo) and his familiar lean-muscled figure, she might have mistaken him for another goon on the hockey team. But, she immediately recognizes the familiar deep furrow of his brows because of the uncomfortable silence, then he offers another apologetic smile, and his eyes squint and gleam the way she does not forget about him. He could still get away with a lot with those eyes.

"You look good, happy." She manages, her free hand holds his arm, a friendly gesture she hopes makes up for her previous bluntness. They're both drawn back to the jangle of her bracelet, and she releases him when she sees him move, his hand returns to rub the back of his neck again.

He glances back at his table as if he's searching for cueing there. Maya follows the direction of his gaze and sees Lindsay watching them, and when he turns to face her again, he gives her a wide smile. She can't say she's ever seen his smile this wide before. Another difference.

"I am. Very, very, really, really happy." He admits in one breath.

Maya is taken aback for a beat before she continues. "Oh. I'm glad you're _very, very, really, really_ happy."

Another shove from a belligerent passerby sends them closer together, the grasp of her tray tightens, and it still separates them, though his hands now hold her arms to steady her from the collision. "You look…Your hair is long." She barely hears him say this, because the country music and loud buzz of conversation from everyone in the bar is blaring in her ears, and his fingers are weaving through the ends of her hair now.

Lindsay and Thomas find them in no time, of course, and Maya is reminded of something Cam has failed to mention yet. One of Cam's hands falls to his side and Lindsay finds it. Maya wants to stop the burning that's on the tip of her tongue, and is tempted to interject when she sees him open his mouth.

Jessica saves her again as she passes by with a more menacing glare, shooting not-so-discreet gestures to the tables that she's been shouldering for Maya all this time. "Sorry, I have to go, guys. Thanks for coming out, but I've got customers waiting on me. Jessica will be taking your bill. I guess, I'll be seeing you around, um, yes. All of you." She gives them a final wave, including Cam, who's slack-jawed in her peripheral sight as she finally makes her exit.

* * *

Zig arrives the moment she hangs up on him, and she wonders if he had been waiting by her doorstep this whole time.

"Where's the grub? Did your roomie make more of her delectable strudel?" Zig bursts through once she opens the door to him.

"Zig-"

"Maya," he warns. "Me. Need. Food. Now."

"Zig—wait. Since when do you wear leather?" Maya grabs at his jacket. "_Real_ leather, too."

Zig shrugs her hands off, moving away. "Thrift store." Zig has that far-away look about his eyes that Maya knows better not to question him about.

"Great. Okay, so, Zig, listen carefully now—"

He collapses into her beanbag chair nearby. "You know, you should probably upgrade to an actual couch. It's bad for your posture. And isn't it bad enough you're surviving on ramen noodles and Doritos this semester?"

"Zig!"

He chuckles at her before sobering, and she wonders how shaken she actually looks. "May, you don't look too good—"

"He's back."

"Who?

"Cam." Maya shoves him aside, sitting next to him, as he clings to the remaining side of the beanbag she saves him.

"Oh." He gives her a look, which he tries to hide when her eyes narrow.

"What do you know, Novak?"

"What?" He raises his hands up as if to absolve himself. "It's only been the announcement everyone's been talking about for, like, weeks now. _U of T welcomes star athlete, Campbell Saunders, back to Toronto. NHL prospect has goals for the Varsity Blues, blah, blah,_ _blargh_. Maya, his mug was on the welcome splash for the school website since the start of the semester. _Really_?"

"I've…been busy."

"Yeah, Hi Ho, Hi Ho, Hi Ho. " He simpers at her annoyed glare. "You're starting to look a little Dopey too."

He's hiding something else, Maya notices from the way he's wringing his hands. "Just spit it out already."

"He was also standing in front of your doorway for a good twenty minutes before I finally decided to come out of hiding. I almost got my awkward 'hi, remember me' in before he bolted."

"Zig!" She strikes him hard in the shoulder, and leaps towards her door, running into her apartment hallway. "You've got to be kidding me," Maya groans as she searches the long, empty corridor.

"I thought you knew." Zig ushers her back in.

"If I knew, I would've let him in." Maya closes the door behind them. Later, she's surprised with Zig's quietness, and the way he doesn't bring him up once during his stay. She thanks him just as quietly.


	3. Alright

**A/N: I just have to say thanks so much for the kind words from some frequent readers: HopelesslyFictional, MsLeahBeah, and Lady Azura! The song featured here as Maya's 'original' is 'Wake Up Exhausted' by Tegan and Sara.**

* * *

**October 25, 2016 – November 10, 2016**

Maya almost collapses when she receives the letter. Her hands tremble as she reads the details: the date, the time, and the venue. And she kisses it soundly before she cries at her ceiling, jumping up and down. It's not until she notices her roommate, Jill, who is stopped from showing Maya a new bright red hairstyle, that she shares her happy dance, jumping even higher and screaming even louder.

"The symphony wants my cello. I mean, they want _me_ and my cello. They actually want _me_. This month. A real crowd, a real audience." Maya cries, and Jill hugs her, screaming emphatically along with her too.

This news has Maya admitting that she does, in fact, mind working at Woody's . She minds the way Dan schedules her on days she's already given notice for exams; she minds when the hockey team goes beyond their normal cat calls and she has to refrain from knocking them out; and she very much minds when her music goes unnoticed in a sea of indifference and alcohol-addled minds.

She tells Jill that she'll be giving up minimum wage and belching customers to offer herself entirely to the symphony now. It's a lofty dream, and her practical mind will convince her to stay for a few weeks before the symphony might show her a job opportunity along with her playing for them. She almost feels weightless from her new plans.

"We're going out for drinks. Call Zig. Call Tris. Is Tori back in town? Who else?" Jill calls from her room as she changes out of her work clothes.

Maya finishes a flurry of texts to her sister and various friends about the news when she goes back to her contact list, and she stares at the contacts listed under 'S'. Between Tara Sanders and Carrie Summers, her thumb hovers.

"Who else?"

Maya's calmed down some when she finally looks up at her roommate. "It's just us tonight."

Woody's isn't exactly her idea, but a part of her is hopeful of having her celebratory party grow beyond her usual circle of friends. _He's been around here more lately_, she muses. She knows it's a long shot, and she further squashes her hope by reminding herself that _he_, with his own friends, must be somewhere else on a Saturday night. It's when the night dwindles into wider gaps between shots, and her last pint of alcoholic cider is only froth at the bottom of her tall glass, that she realizes her hope has dried up too.

"Here's to Maya Matlin and her freakish talent with plucking 'dem strings," Zig bellows this announcement to their circle, and then more loudly to the not-so-interested customers around them.

Maya harshly pulls him down, and giggles into the last swig of her drink when he almost misses his seat. "No one cares."

Tristan notices first, and he elbows Maya's side to let her know, "Except, _she_ does. No!" He hisses. "Don't stare back, she'll know." Tristan's eyes bulge out, and he snorts when he sees Maya's do the same.

"What are you—"

"Have you done anything conniving or slutty against a brunette with an amazing brow arch? No, seriously her brows are seriously channelling Jolie."

"What?"

"She's staring at you, Maya. She has been this whole time. I mean, don't you _feel _it?"

Maya finally turns her head in the slightest to eye whoever Tristan is describing, and she almost falls off her seat at the sight of Lindsay's gaze from across the bar.

"She's kind of scary-looking...scary hot." Zig ogles along with the rest of the group, and Lindsay finally appears flustered by the attention, looking away. "Mostly scary though. But, it's also attractive."

"Can you not?" Jill pushes him off her because he's now leaning into her.

"It's his girlfriend." Maya says into her empty glass, her head resting in her hand.

"Whose?" Jill and Tristan ask, sharply whipping around to face her.

"Cam's," Maya says.

"She's actually pretty ugly," Zig assures her too loudly.

Tristan gives Maya a sympathetic pat on the back before explaining to Jill a brief history, one that Maya cuts off at 'high school sweethearts' with a withering stare before she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

For the second time in a week, Maya sees her reflection morphing before her eyes. Her thick-rimmed glasses return, her hair is frizzier, and she's considerably less endowed underneath her bra.

"I like your dress," Maya hears someone compliment her, though she's hiding her face in the sink at the moment, so the voice's owner is obscured by her dripping wet fingers. "I could never wear anything like that. You could seriously model."

It's Lindsay, and she's smiling warmly at her.

"Thank you." Maya doesn't know what to do with how genuine she looks here, because it's not at all like the stare down that Tristan had described earlier.

Lindsay, who vaguely reminds Maya of Tori, primps in front of the mirror, though she does not need _that_ much mascara.

"You, uh, aren't singing tonight?" Lindsay tries to find a comfortable position after her generous application of mascara, leaning her back against the sink she's not using.

Maya shakes her head. "Just here with friends. Actually, it might be my last day here, we're celebrating because I got a spot on the symphony to play for their Winter concert." She's not immediately sure why she's told someone she's only just met this news, but she can't deny that she thinks of Cam when she adds, "It's a pretty big deal."

"Oh, wow." Lindsay smiles again, though her eyes do not match this happy gesture; there is obvious straining to keep the tug of her lips. "That's amazing. Cam mentioned you were a talented cellist too." She turns around to start primping again, this time with lip gloss.

"It's not that big of a deal," Maya says quickly, biting her lip.

"Of course it is."

"It's not, not really—I mean, I'm like in the pit with tons of other people, way more talented people."

"No," her raised voice startles Maya. "You're perfect. You are, we _all_ know it…even if _he_ won't admit it out loud."

Maya is a fish out of water, her mouth moving wordlessly. She wants to ask what the hell that even means. She wants to grab Lindsay by the shoulders to shake more out of her. She needs to say something, anything, but she stays rooted to the spot, mute.

"Congratulations," Lindsay suddenly steps forward to give her a hand, and Maya shakes it. "I'll tell Cam you said 'hey'."

Before Maya can offer to buy her a drink, the first thing she can think that may release some tension between them, Lindsay leaves, and she cannot be found after Maya re-enters the bar.

"Oh my God," Tristan rushes towards her. "What did she do? Are you okay?" They all come towards her now, Zig and Jill rush her with more concerned questions.

Maya shakes her head for them to stop questioning her, though her head is still swimming with too many thoughts. "I thought he moved on."

Zig shakes her gently. "Geez, May, for a second I thought Crazy Eyes slashed your tongue off."

She is snapped out of her mild trance by their snickering, "Don't-Don't call her that." She watches as Lindsay exits with her friends, and they share a passing glance that leaves Maya with an unsettling feeling of guilt.

* * *

The first time Cam passes by her without greeting, she assumes he did not see her. The main quad tends to get busy, and it's easy for anyone to weave through the crowds without notice. But, the second and third time, she's sure they had locked gazes, but he brushes past her without even acknowledging her once more. She doesn't want to admit how much it bothers her, even when Zig points it, but it does.

The dumbest thing she tries to do is imitate his behaviour, until she realizes that someone who wants to ignore _you_ would actually benefit from your ignorance of them. She thinks of Lindsay by the third week he continues to evade her on campus, and wonders if Lindsay's confession was some cruel joke to dangle hope before her.

It's when Cam ignores her for the fourth time, when it's only the two of them in the library's west wing and he actually gets up to leave when she approaches him (even telling her to 'stop') that Maya stops making excuses for him, and starts fuming at the slightest reminder of him instead. _It's when you don't try that things tend to go your way_, Zig explains. Maya just scoffs, "Lazy."

Maya is not a lazy person. In fact, she still works at Woody's even when the orchestra demands her undivided attention. _Too bad the symphony frowns upon tipping their musicians_, Maya bitterly says to herself during an exceptionally tough two-for-one wings night at the bar. To make matters worse, when she finally feels like she can enjoy something from the night per her boss' request for her to sing, she's greeted with a view of Cam and a few of his teammates. She sees him struggling to find an escape route, but one of the goons pushes him back into his seat. She almost wants to prove a point by walking off stage after she glares at him, but she smirks at a better idea. She adjusts her guitar in her lap as the lyrics in her mind thrill her with the idea of speaking to this very moment.  
_  
I hated this city before you came here_  
_So let go and move on_  
_We're strangers, we're not friends_  
_I hate this, and I hate them_

_This city's exhausted and it's wound up_  
_Soon to be a place that's just filled up_  
_And I find out that you're angry and you're sorry_  
_You ever met me_

_Are you alright?_  
_I can stand up straight_  
_Are you alright?_  
_Can you get me off your mind?_

_I am alright_  
_I can stand up straight_  
_Are you alright?_  
_Can you get me off your mind?_

_Can you get me off your mind?_  
_Can you get me off your mind?_  
_Can you get me off your mind?_

She's never seen his teammates more drunk off of sheer amusement. They make sure Cam knows they know he is engrossed with her, only they miss that Cam's struggling from the words in her song. She half hears their crude jokes, one of them gesturing something about the way her shorts are riding up her thighs. _Idiots_. Cam seems to think so too, so he doesn't stay for the rest of the song. They throw uncontrollable fits when he leaves, holding their sides from guffawing and burping up their drinks.

She almost feels the impact when he slams the bar door behind him, knowing that dramatic exit was solely meant for her. The anger is still coursing through her veins, but she knows her regret is there too.

"Cam! Wait!" She calls after him, bursting through Woody's double doors, panting in between her pleas for him to stop. "_Wait_!"

"Maya," he turns, his voice echoes throughout Woody's empty parking lot. "Are you done? Are you finished? Have you had your fun?" He's not yelling. Yet.

She teeters back and forth from abruptly stopping in her tracks, and she hugs her arms to her front. "My what?"

"Your big laugh about all of this." He gestures in the air, his voice raising. "_You're a riot_."

Her blood is hot and burning her ears from the tone of his voice. "What's hilarious," she starts darkly. "Is how fast you can actually run. What exactly are you running away from, just me?" She cocks her brow at him, daring him to deny her.

He pockets his hands as he paces in front of her; his feet can't seem to stay, as if all this work will distract him from whatever is bouncing back and forth in his head. He moves towards her, opening his mouth, and Maya instinctively holds her breath. It's as if he catches himself doing this, and he stops, and she feels it would be easier if he would be farther away rather than baiting her with how close he could be.

"Your song—"

"I was angry," she sighs. "Angry that it took three years for you to come back here, of all places, and make it a point to forget that I even exist, like I don't—_ever _mattered."

He wrenches out his hands from his pockets, and scrubs his face. When he moves his fingers to see her, he gives a hallow laugh. "You are getting exactly what you've always wanted. You broke up with me, remember?"

She feels her heart pounding inside her, her ears full of its rapid beat, "And you just left!"

"I was _fifteen_," he argues, puncturing the air with a finger. "I was fifteen in the hospital with a death wish for two weeks, with a psychiatrist who didn't get it, a girlfriend who dumped me a day before I got discharged, and a hysterical mother who dragged me out of town, no questions asked, and put me under suicide watch in my own home. So, I'm sorry I didn't feel the need to say 'goodbye' after you left _me_."

"My mom never said goodbye either." Her arms drop to her side, shaking. "Then again, she didn't have much of a choice."

She sees him falter for the first time, his eyes downcast. "I-I didn't mean to…I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," she spits out, and then releases a calming sigh. "Just because I broke up with you, scared shitless that I was the reason you tried to kill yourself, doesn't mean I wanted you gone."

Cam's frown softens, and he almost looks hopeful for her to continue.

"That year, I lost my mom, and then I almost lost you. I just—I wanted you _safe_. I'm sorry I didn't make you see that before you left." She relaxes her clenched fists at her side, and tries to move closer.

He doesn't run. So, she tests him, closing the distance between them so that she is at arm's length now. She holds her breath again as he moves forward. Now, they're toe to toe, and she can see that he's showing how nervous she's feeling. She's reminded of their meeting in the bar, and their closeness makes her lightheaded, so she's not sure if she's imagining the way his eyes are lit up by her touch, the way they used to. He moves away from her hand that reaches for him. "We can't do this," he says quietly, and she's still holding her breath. With difficulty, he adds, "No matter how hard you want to go back to how it used to be, we can't. You're trying to do something that's impossible."

She exhales, and now she feels winded, gutted. "I'm not trying anything."

"I mean," he appears to be searching for words. "You're dating _him_ and don't tell me this place doesn't remind you of Little Miss Steak—"

"What?" She wracks her brain. "I'm dating?"

"I mean, it's like you don't want to move on from high school. We were stupid kids then, why would you want that again?"

She backs away, tempted to kick his shoe in the process. "_Kids_? And what, _this_," she almost jumps back towards him, flicking at his Blues jacket. "This is supposed to mean _you're_ moving on? You _hate _hockey, remember?"

He gives an uncomfortable cough into his fist. "That's different."

"Face it, you're a hypocrite." She bites out, crossing her arms.

He turns to walk towards his car.

"Good," she yells after him. "Keep running away from everything."

She freezes when he sharply turns on his heel to walk back to the spot he had just left. "_Him_? Really? The guy told me—sure, it's not his fault that I—but, really? It's practically a slap in the face, isn't it?"

It finally dawns on her, and she's livid, leaning forwards, "Zig? I am _not_ dating Zig." The idea is ridiculous, so she strikes back. "And what do you care, anyways? You have Lindsay."

"What?" He gawks at her, bewildered. "Me and Lindsay? We're not. Did you think we-we're not together. I know she wants to, but, I can't—I don't want to be with her…or anyone."

Her chest, which had been gradually swelling with heat, with her heart thrashing inside of it, deflates. "Oh."

He must notice her sudden shift in mood, maybe even regretting his honesty, because he moves closer again, his arms swing forwards as if to take her in, but they fall back to his side.

"Why not?" She's not proud of the way she pleas, voice cracking.

He considers this, looking as though he's asking himself the same question. But, he continues, "I'm not ready for anything, I haven't been since…" He looks to the sky, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he's reining in something within him. He exhales heavily when he finds her gaze again, "I can't even be in the same room with you. I can't even think of you and not want to be near you. It's _you_, Maya. You and my first kiss. You, my first girlfriend. You and, well, my first of everything that mattered. _You_ mattered."

She can't help but feel the slightest lift when she hears this confession, but she immediately braces herself.

"The first night we saw each other again, I saw Zig at your apartment," he swallows a lump in his throat. "I almost lost it. I can't…I won't do _that_ anymore."

She nods, keeps nodding when she knows she should stop. "You're right," she surprises herself when she admits this, head steady, eyes stinging wet. "We're different now. At least, we should be. I was an idiot to think that we could-I mean, we weren't even friends to begin with, were we?"

"Maya," he starts weakly.

She backs away. "That's fine," she replies, shaking her head. "It's fine. Really, _I'm fine_," she confirms, tears brimming and running down her cheeks.

Maya doesn't hear his car start when she stalks off, and even when she pauses before she re-enters the bustling noise of the bar, she's tempted to go back to him because she still hasn't heard him leave. She doesn't. Even after she paces back and forth in front of the window overlooking his parking spot, she doesn't.


	4. Sorry and Such and Other Things

**A/N: I've been writing so much Camaya sadness. I might take a break after all this is said and done. Whew.**

* * *

**November 30, 2016**

Maya would readily admit to anyone that the cello is her most prized possession, and that every stroke with her bow sometimes makes her want to cry. She wept once when she was fifteen, and she distinctly remembers it was when she exited the Youth Orchestra audition. She remembers there was a heavy weight bearing down on her just outside the audition room, where she fell to her knees, knowing that her choice of throwing her audition because of her disastrous freshman year sealed a fate she could not come back from. So, after her first performance with the Toronto Symphony, when everyone was cheering and paying her compliments as they exited the concert hall, and after she was left alone in the pit, she realizes her haunted fears of the impossibility of her music future has and always will be possible. She cries again.

Maya believes it's safe to say she's secured a comfortable position in the orchestra pit with the symphony. In fact, she's so secure enough in her position as first string cellist (as she explains to her non-musical friends) that Woody's becomes a casual position, so casual that Bossman Dan has to admit that keeping her on his wait staff roster is wishful thinking on his part, knowing she only comes in to play a rare song and serves an odd table now. It only took five whole weeks for him to realize this, but Maya decides to play her last song on the last Friday of the fifth week, calling it her swan song to the crowd, just so everyone can remind him too.

Everything seems to fit in its place and 'coming up Maya' now. Though she wishes she could confirm this about her dating situation, or the cue of boys Zig insists she 'just try them out'. "They aren't jeans, Zig. And I'm not test driving people," Maya would always counter. Though Maya entertains the idea, because Zig on his fifth pint is too annoying to ignore, and she makes idle chit chat that goes nowhere because Zig on his sixth pint tends to forget his surroundings.

She slips away easily from her current dilemma, leaving an unsuspecting frat boy mid-conversation, and finally makes it to Dan to pass him her last order bill. And just as she exhales and exits the kitchen for the last time, she's pushed backwards.

"Jill!" She pushes her off. "What was that for?"

"Zig's got Cam and won't let go."

The swinging doors of the kitchen provide glimpses of the two boys sitting together, Zig talking animatedly, pointing to his drink, and Cam staring blankly at him, throwing glances towards the bar's exit.

"SHIT!" Maya tries to burst through the double doors, but is stopped again. "Jill, Zig cannot be around him right now."

Jill squeezes Maya's shoulder, pushing her back again, "Maya, Cam looks like he's handling himself."

Maya glares at her, "You don't know if he's handling himself at all, you don't know—"

"Besides, Zig spotted him leaving, maybe he was here the whole night. Now, Cam thinks you've left, also by Zig's persuasion, and he's staying. Aren't you a little bit curious?" Jill points to the booth directly behind Zig's, and she notices the divider that's solid, perfect for eavesdropping.

Maya shakes her head, "We can't. I won't. Jill, I'm not some prepubescent stalker."

"Since when are we concerned about a lack of propriety at seventeen?"

"The watchword here is maturity."

Jill rolls her eyes as she forces Maya out an alternative exit from the kitchen, and sits her in the booth, though Maya puts up an admirable (though futile) attempt to escape. She underestimates how freakishly strong Jill can be, despite her rail thin frame, so she relents and stills in her grasp.

"So, Cam," she hears Zig's slow drawl, and she's certain he's tipping his glass forward, spilling some of its contents. "Thanks for not knocking me out this time."

"Don't mention it…_really_." Cam's voice is tense, and she wishes she could see through the wall separating their booths so she might intervene when he starts showing his tell-tale signs. "But, I do have to get out of here—"

"No, no, no. I mean, you didn't come here for the show right?" Zig is dastardly here. "You only came for drinks, right?" He continues to probe, and Maya has to admit her own curiosity now.

"Yeah, the guys wanted to—"

"They already left?" Zig is loud, knocking something over their table as he makes a big show out of searching for Cam's teammates. "Interesting, I only saw you tonight. Man! Too bad, I wanted to say 'hi' to John…or Jake or…"

"Josh?" Cam offers, and she can almost hear him say this through gritted teeth.

"Yup! That's the guy." Zig plops back into his seat. "Good ol' Johnny boy."

"Josh."

"Right."

"Look, I'm not really in the mood to talk about her right now."

"Who?"

"Don't act stupid."

"Seriously, who?" Maya can hear the slight amusement in Zig's voice.

Cam politely tells the waitress to take back the drink Zig orders him, then continues, his tone gaining more confidence to show his annoyance. "Listen, I'm _really_ not in the mood, especially not for you."

"_Hey_," Zig raises his voice. He hardly uses _that_ voice, and it even convinces Maya that he's sobering up some. "I'm—I'm trying here."

"Trying what?" Cam is exasperated.

"I'm trying, I'm trying—"

"I don't have time for this." Cam gets up, and Maya almost ducks under her table.

"I'm sorry!" Zig is louder, and Maya freezes. "I'm sorry that I'm apologizing in a crowded bar, and completely smashed. I'm sorry that I have to say sorry like _this_." He pauses before he continues, "The truth is, I'm too much of a coward to face you alone."

Cam is silent when he slowly returns to his seat.

"I'm sorry about what I said before, _way_ before. About _you know_. I know that doesn't mean much now, especially after what happened, but I just wanted you to know that." She's not sure if Zig meant for her to hear this too, but she can't help but wonder if this was his plan all along, to make amends to both of them.

"You don't have to—"

"But, I do…because I never meant to hurt you or my friends. But, we're here now and you deserve it."

There's a long lull, where all Maya can hear is everyone else's conversation. She strains, but she knows they are sitting in silence. She looks to Jill for moment, before she shushes her to hear Cam.

"Thank you," she hears Cam finally respond.

Zig releases a heavy sigh, "And thanks for not knocking me out."

"I told you not to mention that again."

"Right," Zig guffaws, and they share a laugh. Maya gives Jill a wide-eyed grin, mouthing 'what is going on?'

"So," Zig starts nervously. "How have you been? I mean, you don't have to talk about—"

"To be honest, I don't know." Cam replies right away. "I was pretty fucked up for a while after I got home, but that's over. Mostly. I was doing well after graduation, and even when I started college, I was okay. But, being back here…it's been hard. There's a lot of pressure being on a competitive team again." Cam laughs, "It reminds me a lot of how I felt when I first came here."

She wonders if Zig's giving him a look, because Cam starts speaking rapidly. "No, no, not exactly how I felt when I first came here. It's always going to be hard, right?"

"Tell me about it." Zig is hesitant, but starts again, "No one knows, but my parents took out a second loan for me. Going to school is killing them, and it makes me want to drop out…I mean, I'm taking _music_…"

"You're not going to though," Cam states matter-of-factly. "You have to finish. You got this far, your parents got you this far…"

"Yeah, and you're going to make it too. I mean, you're making it already, and I'm not talking about you coming back here to play hockey and all that NHL stuff. I mean it's the NHL, who watches that crap anyways?" They laugh again.

Another lull fills the space between them, and Maya is acutely aware of her intrusion. Jill looks just as uncomfortable, but her hand is still holding Maya down.

"Why does high school feel like a lifetime ago?" Zig tries to smother a burp.

"Because we've been through it all. I mean, that's what it feels like for me."

"No, I know," Zig sighs. "But, we're still kickin' and I'd like to think we're better because of all that messed up stuff we went through. Man, if I knew you—"

"What," Cam starts at once, defensive. "If you knew about me, you'd throw a pity party?"

"If I knew," Zig ignored him. "I'd still want to kick your ass for embarrassing me in front of the whole school with that sucker punch."

Cam's scoff is delayed, but he laughs too, "Your skinny ass couldn't beat up anyone in high school."

"That's true," Zig admits, snickering. "But we could've been friends."

"You were the poor band geek, and I was the depressed jock kid." Cam isn't sarcastic here, but speaking frankly. "How do you figure that?"

"Hey, we still don't have much in common, but we're not trying to kill each other, and we're having a drink," Zig cheers' his drink with another. "Well, you're not drinking, which by the way is suspicious since you come in here, _a bar_, all the time. I mean, you _never_ drink. Don't you guys come here for the sole purpose of getting completely shit-faced after your games? Whatever, I digress. We're having a drink, and hitting it off just fine. We could've been friends."

"You forgot the tiny detail of you trying to steal my girlfriend." Cam pauses, possibly for effect, and then laughs.

"I mean, to say," Zig ignores him again. "Somehow I knew this epic reunion wouldn't end in a brutal massacre. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Cam shrugs.

"High school's over, and we've changed some, but we're still the same."

"I hope not. I hope we never go back to how we were." Cam deadpans.

"Man, the good parts of us haven't changed. Like, me finally spilling my guts out to you, which was a long time coming, something I knew I was capable of. Like, you forgiving me, when both of us know you didn't need to, but it's because you were always _that _guy. Like, you coming here for her to try—"

"I'm not trying anything," Cam persists, quietly.

She hears Zig's pint glass clink with the others again, and she's not sure why he's continuing to drink when the worst has come to pass. Zig only drinks excessively when he's nervous.

"You know, she couldn't face me for weeks, almost months, after you did what you did." Zig burps into his fist. _Oh there it is_, Maya realizes. "She, uh, told Mike Dallas about what I said to you that day. She almost got him to finish what you started with me. Almost did…but, Maya being Maya didn't go through with it."

Cam does not react, so Zig adds, "_Come on_. You wouldn't have let anyone push you to stay tonight, least of all for me, unless there was the chance that you'd find out how she's doing. Let's not play _that _game."

Cam clears his throat. "Maya...she wouldn't let that happen to you; she's too good." He finally agrees.

"Yeah," Zig is serious again. "That's why it was worth fighting for her friendship back, even when she wanted nothing to do with me, even when she still chose you. Every time. Even after you left."

Maya jerks her arm out of Jill's grasp. She's hot and nervous. She strains to hear them again, because she can't hear Cam's response, if he even responded. The silence that creeps up once more is maddening. She can't stand it.

"Would you fight for her back?" Is the last question Maya hears Zig ask before she runs.

She runs out of the bar, and closes her eyes against the cool, crisp night air that chills her burning skin. Jill doesn't follow, and once Maya feels the temptation to go back and ask her what Cam had concluded with or even ask him herself, she starts running for the bus stop.

* * *

Zig has the alcohol tolerance of someone twice his size, and he's about six foot and forever. So, it's no surprise that he arrives at her doorstep with only a hint of delay in answering her questions, and an almost non-existent wobble to his gait. He also has a nervous habit of rubbing the back of his ears of which he does as he waits for Maya to usher him inside her apartment.

"Thank you for tonight," Maya tells him first. "You didn't have to do that..."

Zig rests his head against her door frame, rolling his eyes at her. "May, I know you have been waiting all this time for me to finally dosomething for."

She mumbles, "That's not what I've been thinking all these-"

He raises his hand to stop her. "Hey, I've reached my quota for long, drawn out apologies. And that includes talking about _and_ overanalyzing long, drawn out apologies."

"And here I was thinking that you only did things out of the goodness of your heart."

"That and I wasn't going to spend this whole year listening to you whine and mope."

Maya nods, her sights trained on anywhere but in his eyes. He dips low to level their vision. "What?" She mumbles.

"Why'd you leave?"

"I don't know, I couldn't breathe in there."

"Well, you didn't miss much. The guy is Fort Knox. Nothing would make him budge after the first time I brought you up."

He must notice her disappointment because he adds, "You do know that he's still completely, stupidly in love with you, right?"

She peers up at him, sceptical. "He didn't tell you that."

"Maya, I know."

"Bullshit."

He chuckles low, shaking his head. "You forget that I was there too."

She frowns, confused, folding her arms tighter over her front. He is not exasperated as he scratches his forehead in response, laughing again, possibly musing over something that just hits him.

"Back in homeroom, grade nine, Madame Jean-Aux's class, I _knew _before you even knew about him." Zig cracks up even more. "I won't forget the way he pretended to act all cool and casual about joining your little French group with Tristan, when I knew he had been staring at the same spot for the whole first week he'd joined the class, like the back of your head was the most fascinating thing in the world. Don't get me started on how contagious your laughter was; he'd be grinning like an idiot whenever he heard it. I caught myself doing the same thing one day. It was like I was staring at my own reflection when I noticed him noticing you."

"He can hardly stand thinking about those days now—"

"Maya," he starts, irritated this time. "He's not shitting anyone, he still looks at you that way."

She nods automatically, dejected. "I already know how he feels, Zig. It's just not what he wants anymore."

"You're the girl, Maya." He continues, shaking her shoulders. "You are _the_ girl. If he doesn't come around sooner or later, then…"

"I know, I know. Thank you. Again." Maya gives him a sad smile, which he seems to be satisfied with.

"God," Zig coughs uncomfortably. "You're killing me here. You promised a bed and a disgustingly greasy breakfast over the phone."

"I did not, you drunkard."

"I'm about to pass out on top of you if you don't let me in."

Finally, Maya moves, gesturing for him to come in. "There's strudel on the kitchen table, loser."

She's lifted off the ground by his bone-crushing embrace, but before she can protest, he's already at her table. He looks as though he wants to either thank her or add another positive sentiment, but he stuffs his face with the pastry before he decides.


	5. (Dis)connect

**A/N: I figure this and the other chapter out tonight will make up for this past Friday, not that these chapters are selling like hot cakes anyways ;P**

* * *

**December 10, 2016**

Everything seems to be a click away. Maya can attest to this fact with three important accounts she holds online. She pays her bills with an app her sister Katie introduced her to months ago, and now she hardly leaves her apartment for monetary transfers and reviewing transactions. With Facerange, she has her family gathered in one closed group, where they share pictures and messages about new developments in the Matlin clan (68 members). And she can't sing enough praises about her new calendar app that sends her reminders of important events she cannot miss nor miss the chance to prepare for. Simply put: through rendered pixels and electronic mechanisms, Maya's life is bound neatly together, connected.

She never leaves home without her phone. The clicking comes naturally from this attachment.

Maya swipes her phone screen to view a new event invitation via Facerange. After the third unread message from Jill about said invitation (why Jill would call during an orchestra practice she knows not to disturb escapes her), she figures she should answer with an appropriate text on her bus ride home.

**Maya: U know I'm going to ask.**

**Jill: I will not bail on you. I swear.**

**Maya: I don't feel like being ur DD tonight.**

**Jill: It's not going to be like that tonight. I want you to meet someone.**

**Maya: Not you too. U sound like Zig.**

**Jill: I hate to admit it, but the idiot has a point.**

**Maya: Zig's not talking you into this, is he?**

**Jill: I don't talk to that floppy-haired freak, you know that. But, like I said, he's got one thing right. You are too young to be hung up and depressed.**

**Maya: Can't we just stay in and order Chinese?**

**Jill: Woman! If you make me eat another chicken ball smothered in MSG, I will hurl into your cello.**

**Maya: Ur disturbing.**

**Jill: And you're not nesting. You're hardly twenty. Can we plz act our age tonight?**

**Maya: You better not be setting out clothes for me to wear.**

Maya squeezes her phone between her thighs as she unlocks her apartment door open.

"In here," Jill's voice comes from Maya's bedroom.

Maya sighs as she enters her room. "What did I say?"

Jill clicks her tongue, and swats Maya's hand away to eyeball how a rather tight dress will look against Maya's slouched figure.

"Would you pretend to enjoy this?"

"Would you pretend to care that I've had a twelve hour day?"

Jill raises her brow.

"Never mind." Maya mutters, allowing her friend to model another outfit on her. "Why are you making a big deal about what I wear anyways? You never care _this_ much."

Jill simply swats Maya's hand away again from peeling another dress off. This time Maya gives her a pointed look when Jill tries to persuade her to wear a too-deep v-neck halter top.

"Fine." Jill groans loudly. "But, we can't keep doing this over and over and over again. Midterms are over, and I know you're done that paper for Spinelli, so you have no other excuses for tonight. We need to let loose." Jill raises her hands towards her, as a needy gesture.

Maya raises a brow and throws a sweater over Jill's exposed front. "Not everything has to let loose." While Jill just smirks realizing her overflowing bra.

"_Please_."

"I hate socializing."

"I won't let it get out of hand like last time. I promise." Jill assures her, but she can't help but slip, "Even if people still talk about the table top dance."

Maya's eyes are wide, and she's already deciding on which excuse to provide her with now.

"It's one of those Greek parties. Alpha, Beta, Epsilon, Schmepsilon, whatever. It's not exactly gourmet, but you and I both just need _something _to distract us."

Maya's closing her eyes as Jill brandishes another dress over Maya, and she's already starting to fade from the conversation.

A klaxon that's not too dissimilar to a very annoying music video Jill had once forced her to watch starts blaring from Jill's phone, and she makes a bee line out of Maya's room, eyeing her while she leaves.

"Weirdo," Maya breathes.

Her own phone starts without her realizing as she wonders what's vibrating in her purse still hung over her shoulder.

**Dad: Honey, we missed you today at church, and at the cemetery. Can we talk?**

Maya dreads the fact that her father can tell that's she's read the message, but leaves it without a reply. She _cannot _talk about _that_ right now. In truth, she had not really sat down to talk to her father in a month, and even before that, conversations were kept to a minimum of single or a handful of syllable answers during family dinners.

Jill comes back, smiling from ear to ear, ignoring the way Maya's withdrawn and cradling her phone, absorbing the glowing screen before her. "Maya, _please_-"

"I pick my own clothes. We're leaving in twenty." Maya gets up, and pushes her roommate out her bedroom door in the process.

"Really-what-" Jill tries, but the door is slammed shut in her face.

* * *

Maya fidgets in her boots, the black Doc Martins that Jill voted against. She managed to keep them on if she compromised by wearing a dress (Maya's version of a dress happened to be in the form of a strapless, black thing she had created from an oversized Johnny Cash tee). It didn't hug her curves the way Jill's did, but her roommate nodded in approval, noting that she was showing enough of her killer legs for her satisfaction.

Jill and Maya pause by the entrance of Matt-Whoever-What's-His-Face-Greek's house, possibly wondering their place among the crowd. They exchange a look, and Maya almost opens her mouth to excuse herself, but she resigns to view the scenery in silence again.

"And we wanted this, right?" Maya asks slowly, smirking at the view of Jill's look of disgust as two frat boys try and head butt each other with their poorly strapped on hockey helmets.

They do have some options: Derek, Jill's ex by amicable terms, is motioning them to come and play a quick game of beer pong; Sam from Maya's Canadian Lit class says there's a better party down the street with _much_ better company; Zig's here too, and he appears to be on his fifth drink, motioning them to come over, and he's accompanied by someone who looks vaguely familiar.

Jill shrugs, "Beggars can't be choosers, let's go." She pushes Maya forward in Zig's direction.

The thing about Jill is, or, rather, the thing Maya cannot seem to learn about Jill is her inevitable streak of lying. If Jill hadn't been a reliable in paying for rent or touted her baked good goddess status every Sunday, Maya wouldn't think twice about kicking her to the curb. She hasn't yet. But, the thought of actually going through with the eviction is so much more tempting at these parties, when Maya is left behind with her filled-to-the-brim Solo cup. It's so very tempting to evict her right here and now, when Jill's ditched her for the umpteenth time for nearby booze and the first cute guy she sees leering her way. Zig is no different in this way, as he's also roaming the crowded room, looking for the keg that he believes has his name on it, or so he keeps shouting out loud.

Tonight is different though. As much as Maya likes to think her father's text and the significance of him texting her _today_ is farthest from her mind, when Zig's friend has the look of someone who's only gotten the nerve to strike up conversation (she can't fathom why he's still standing next to her this whole time, idle, as she stays resolutely mute), she can't deny it's crossed her mind about a dozen times. Then she thinks of Cam because he's the closest in the timeline of fucked up things related to what her father is seemingly texting her about. She can't help it. Then she thinks he would be the only person she could confide in about her father's text, if he were here. But, Rob or Ryan is closest.

Tonight is a very different beast. She chugs her Solo cup dry, and turns to Ryan (he corrects her first attempt of calling him Rob).

"Do you wanna dance, _Ryan_?" Maya asks, effectively closing his mouth while he nods.

Maya and Ryan join the throng of other couples dancing. He dances close, holding her from behind. She lets him put his hands on her hips as they sway to a steady, obnoxious bass beat, and she doesn't even mind when he rests his head in the crook of her neck. She only turns to look away when his lips try to meet hers, and he kisses her neck instead.

Maya closes her eyes for moment, wondering why the beat of the new song sounds so good, when normally she'd mock it on any given day, and she thinks of how many spoken lyric parodies Zig had done for her that made her laugh milk through her nose. But, it's so impossibly infectious right now, even when Ryan is doing absolutely nothing for her. She opens her eyes to watch his closed ones, and he looks like he's in deep concentration as he grasps her closer. Truthfully, he's cute enough, and he seems nice enough too, but she decides she will likely pretend to have forgotten her phone in order to dodge exchanging contact info.

If she had closed her eyes again, possibly get lost in the repetitive dub-step again, she might have missed him. But, as it is, her eyes stay with the clear view of Cam and the girl he is dancing with across the room. She takes comfort in the fact that he looks just as indifferent as she feels, and she wants to think that the simmering burning in the pit of her stomach is jealousy of him not seeing her and not being affected by seeing each other. But, she knows the reason Ryan is now questioning her halting, abruptly losing their rhythm, is all due to seeing the Ex with someone else.

She looks away too late, and jumps back into dancing with Ryan too slowly as Cam spots her with wide eyes and a stunted step in his own dance with his date. She sees him whisper something close to his date's ear, so she turns to Ryan, wrapping her arms around his neck as if she's clinging on to her dignity. At least she won't be able to see if Cam's whispering something that would make his date blush, she rationalizes.

"Maya," Jill looks disapproving as she pries Maya off Ryan, pulling her to the side.

"When did you sober up?" Maya asks, ignoring Ryan's urging her to come back to him.

Jill dismisses him again, sending him on his way, before she turns back to Maya. "Cam's here. Do you realize that?"

"Yes and so is the girl he's with." Maya points to the crowd, though he's already gone.

Zig joins them. "Ladies. Did you see that Cam's here, Maya? What a co-in-kee-dink."

Maya eyes him suspiciously, and though she cannot read Jill all too well because she's an expert at this game, she sees something flicker in Zig's eyes. Maya opens her mouth, finger at the ready to start painfully puncturing him in his chest, but Jill beats her to it. Literally.

"I told you to stay clear of us until—" Jill pushes his shoulder, seething.

Zig raises his hands up as if to admit defeat.

"Whatever you're planning tonight, _Jill_," Maya starts, increasingly irritated. "I'm not falling for it, especially if you've enlisted Zig's help. The guy's drinking on the job!"

"Man, my phone's missing and I know you—" Cam comes through the crowd, and Zig's smiling ear to ear as he enters the fold. "Maya…"

"Cam." Maya replies, eyes downcast in seconds.

"Novak," Cam rounds on Zig who is simpering into his drink as Jill pinches at his ribs, his drink falling over his front.

"Okay, sorry. But, honestly, you two just haven't had enough to drink. And that's an easy fix." Zig only appears apologetic for a moment, but he's still smiling.

The room is bustling and buzzing with racket, and they are being jostled slightly closer in their circle. So, it's incredible that they have managed to concentrate on maintaining an intense silence between them, eyeing each other as if waiting for someone to crack.

Finally, "Okay, okay, okay!" Jill caves. "Yes, Zig and I planned for you two to be here. Yes, we are aware it violates whatever codes of conduct on bros, hoes, whatever. But, can we just admit that this was bound to happen, with or without our help? Listen, we're going to be doing this for a while, because of this thing we call the college experience; there will be more of these crappy but necessary parties, there will be more clandestine coffee run-ins, and there will be so much more awkwardness. So, can't we all agree that we're totally capable of dealing with this shit like somewhat-adults and be civil towards each other? Zig wants to hang with you, Cam, and Zig can't not hang with you, Maya. And I want to hang out with you, Maya, and not hide you every time we see you two. I just can't stand idly by and not have us let bygones be bygones."

Maya is hearing her friend, but she's staring at the bottoms of Cam's Chucks. "I need a drink." She finally responds, walking away as Jill follows her, huffing. When Maya turns, she sees Zig and Cam arguing, but they continue to walk in the same direction.

She can't hide her full blown anger as she watches Zig and Cam (sans girl) carry on with their newfound friendship, Jill and the newest guy she's spotted along the way, and she realizes she can't just deal. She especially can't deal with her phone vibrating again, signalling her about a few more texts, identical in their message, from her father.

And Ryan can't seem to lose interest in her no matter how many times Maya's said no. But, with a Solo cup of some mixed drink he says he's made just for her, he's only deterred by her last warning. "Guy, there are only so many ways and so many languages I can translate the word 'no' for you. But, I just can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that you still don't get it."

She almost apologizes, because she realizes how it sounds out loud, but then he calls her a bitch, and she clamps her mouth shut, watching him stalk off.

It's about midnight and she figures, with the way Jill and Zig have been drinking consistently, she can slip away easily within the hour. She can't help thinking of trying out that 'civil thing' Jill had mentioned, and say goodbye to Cam before she leaves. Her eyes have been trained to find him periodically throughout the night, so it's easy to spot him again; this time, he's alone and watching someone intently. Following his line of sight, she sees Ryan talking to a new girl he's most likely irritating, and she sees something vaguely familiar about the stormy look in the way Cam's boring his gaze on the loser. Then a few acquaintances distract her for a moment, and the look has vanished from Cam's features, replaced with a seemingly cheerful one as he tries to keep up with Zig's animated story.

Her final decision to leave comes from Jill's tell-tale signs of attachment to the boy she has indefinitely chosen for the night. Maya can tell that he's the chosen one because Jill is doing a frightfully accurate imitation of a spider monkey clinging to him. So, when Jill approaches her, Maya only raises a finger to her, wishing it were a more offensive one, to silence her. Maya's gone before Jill explains herself.

One last pit stop to the bathroom, and she's decided that she's so angry with the turn of events of tonight that she has a right to leave without saying goodbye to anyone.

"_Don't you dare lie_." She hears Cam warn someone through gritted teeth, so she quickly turns the corner of the short hallway with the bathroom, hoping they didn't see her. "Don't even _think_ about it." He warns again, and there's a thud to the wall, and she spies Cam pushing someone up against the wall.

She squints and sees Ryan is being pinned up against the wall by Cam. Cam's hand is closing in on his throat, while he's got a fistful of his collar too.

"I saw what you did to Maya's drink. How many girls have fallen for the _spiked_ drink trick, by the way?"

"I don't know what you're talking abou—Ah, fuck—"

Cam pushes him against the wall again, the back of Ryan's head connecting with the wall. "Lie again. Try me."

"You can't prove a damn thing." Ryan spits out.

She wants to emerge from the shadows now because Cam is looking downright murderous, but she stalls seeing him change with a single, long breath he exhales; he's coming down. When his shaky eyes begin to still, she starts feeling her heart slow its erratic beat. And he finally releases Ryan, who appears to be a deer caught in headlights by this sudden shift. So is she, because she realizes she expected him to lose it, to pummel him through the drywall as if history had to repeat itself. But, he doesn't, and his stance reminds her of someone in deliberate, determined concentration.

Then he says, quietly, "You're lucky she's smarter than that."

"No, he's not lucky at all." She finally comes out, and can't seem to stop from seeing red. She sees herself doing it before her mind, screaming for her to take a step back, processes it. Her tight, closed fist connects with Ryan's jaw. From shock, she doesn't feel a thing, and then she staggers back from the rush of realization and pain.

"Maya!" Cam holds on to her, steadying her so she stands again.

Ryan falls over his own feet, clutching at his jaw, moaning obscenities at her. She could care less as she's concentrating on her raw, aching fist. It's when Ryan finally leaves them that Cam helps her towards their own exit, passing by Jill and ordering her to grab an icepack from the fridge.

"Here," he offers her to sit, pushing potted hydrangeas out of the way to make room for her on the porch. She winces as he takes her hands in his lap, sitting beside her. "It's okay the ice will numb it out soon." She winces again from the ice pack he's pressing against her reddened, swollen knuckles.

"Fuck, it hurts." She admits, teary-eyed.

She hears him snicker softly, his eyes watching her, and through her tears she has to laugh too. "Who knew, eh?" She says.

"I did. You will always be braver and stronger than me. You're always trying to defend me."

Her swollen hand is numb, but she's aware that he's not only cradling her injury, but both of her hands.

"And you're always looking out for me, even when I do stupid things."

"Old habits."

"Like ketchup chip obsessions." She dusts at his collar that's smeared with a trail of red powder, and winces realizing she's used her injured hand to do this.

He takes her back in his lap, bowing his head before nodding in agreement. She's treated with a smile from him too, the wide one she's so fond of because of the way his eyes squint and gleam since it's a genuine reaction, an unguarded one.

"Cam," she starts, serious and he straightens his posture. "I saw you. I saw you with Ryan, and I saw you hold back."

He stares at her with an unreadable, unblinking look in his eyes.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm proud of you."

He blinks. "I—thanks."

"Listen, I know that you're not ready for…whatever…with us," she says, and can't help the sadness that leaks out from her pauses. "But, if you ever need to talk—if you're having trouble with whatever—if you're thinking—What I want to say is—"

"But, that is what friends do. Friends. I think it'd be a mistake if I'm too used to looking out for your interests, for you, to not be at least your friend." He tells her.

She's smiling now, and knows she looks too giddy and too foolishly happy. She's sure he notices, because he's snickering again. "What?"

"Nothing." He tells her, he sobers. "It's nothing."

"Spill, Saunders."

"You're a dork, Matlin."

She feigns shock, and is ready to raise her hands again, but he holds her down.

He rolls his eyes. "You're an adorable dork. You know you are."

"Better." She sits primly, shoulders back. Then she feels a draft and her bare shoulders shudder from the cool sensation.

"Take it," he removes his hoodie, alternating hands to support her injured hand, to cover her shoulders. One of his hands stays, caught under his hoodie, and his palm is warming her shoulder. "Better?"

He's leaning closer, and she's feeling heated, seeing how much closer he could be by inching just a bit more. All she sees is the way his mouth is slightly parted after they say something again. She peers up into his eyes, which possibly looks similar to how she feels: affected by their nearness.

"I feel numb." She finally tells him.

"Me too." He replies quickly.

"The ice is melted."

He shakes his head, and they disconnect, possibly realizing that he had misunderstood until now. "Right. Your hand. Feel any better?"

"Much."

The dazed look about him has gone now, and he's listing off what she should do about taking care of her hand when she gets home. She thanks him more than she needs to, but it at least extends his staying by her side, because he's rising too soon. Then Jill arrives with Zig, their exchanged looks are infuriating as they leer at her and Cam as if they had too much to do with their brief reconnection.

"Cam," she calls after him, linked to her roommate by their locked elbows. He turns quickly on his heel before opening his car across the street from them, when she adds, "Don't forget about…about what I told you. I'm here."

He nods with a small smile. "I won't forget."

* * *

Jill prods and pokes and does everything but wallops her in the face for information, but Maya pretends she's asleep by the time Jill's followed her into her room.

It's when Jill gives up that Maya turns on a single lamp in her room. Her hands trail down the lamp to the bedside table it sits on, and she opens the first drawer. Inside, she digs for a single photo. At the bottom of a worn-looking polaroid, she traces the name, _Mom and Maya, Christmas 99'_. She traces her mother's silhouette and smiles.

She pulls the photo closer, flattening it over her chest. She jolts slightly by something moving, the photo is tucked under her pillow now. She calms when she realizes her phone is vibrating in her bag, and she is instantly reminded of the unanswered phone texts and calls from her father. Soon, the vibrations end. She picks up the phone soon and sees that her father had left a voicemail this time. Before she hears the disappointment in his voice, she presses the number button assigned for 'erase' and disconnects the line.

She's not sure what causes her weeping, which parent had started it first, but she knows she wakes up clutching to both her phone and the photo close to her.


	6. Normal

**A/N: This one's been a long time coming, believe me.**

* * *

**December 17, 2016**

Maya had been taking Abigail skating on Tuesdays because it's quieter in the afternoons on this day. In December, they start serving free hot chocolate, which happens to be a shared passion between them, but this only happens on Thursdays. It's a mutual understanding that the chocolate outweighs the benefits of a less busy rink, so Maya calls it their Chocolate Thursdays.

She tells little Abby that she's glad to take her to the rink every week, but as much as it is a relief for Abby's father, Maya's older brother, Xander, it is just as satisfying for her. Sometimes Maya even allows her to skate ahead because Abby has gotten so good at skating on her own, and Maya allows herself moments to pause because it feels wonderful to be on the ice for as long as Abby can stand. Luckily, her seven-year-old niece is at that school-aged stage of wanting to master a skill she had romanticized about because of a cheesy movie she had seen one weekend, and sometimes skates until the rink closes.

"I wish I could skate as well as you do, Auntie M." Abby pouts as Maya tightens her skate's laces.

Maya chuckles, but smothers it quickly. "I'm sorry, babe. I'm not laughing at you. I was just thinking that I was never good at any sports at your age, but this, this is my favourite."

"Skating is a sport?"

Maya laughs again, "It is, and I don't do it to compete."

"What do you do it for?" Abby's face is scrunched up the way it always is when she's curious, and Maya can't contain herself again, brushing away the little girl's curly, blonde fringe to kiss her on the forehead.

Maya sighs, "I don't know, I've been doing it for a while, since high school."

Abby continues to stare expectantly at her.

"Sometimes, I came here alone." Maya bites her bottom lip. "I used to close my eyes when I skated, and right after the Zamboni would finish, with the ice smooth and just about perfect, sometimes it would feel like I was flying."

Abby smiles. "I've seen you do that before. You skate because it makes you happy."

Abby is skating backwards as soon as the crowd starts to disperse, making faces, and Maya can't help but laugh out loud because she certainly did not get her sense of humour from Xander, an often serious man. She supposes she's laughing at her own sense of humour when it comes to her neice.

She sees it happening, but she's not quick enough and too far ahead to prevent it. Abby is knocked down by her own feet. She gasps because Abby's fall is not cushioned by anyone nearby.

"Oh gosh, babe," she coos, crouching down to pick her niece up in her arms. "You get that from me too—the clumsiness, I mean."

"I-It's okay," Abby assures her, rubbing the back of her head. "I'm okay." She's trying to hide her grimace.

Shaved ice showers over Abby's legs, and a shadow casts over her. "Are you sure you're okay?" The shadow asks. Maya looks up at a boy in full hockey gear, around the same age as Abby, who crouches low with them.

"Uh—" Maya peers behind the boy's shoulder to see the public skaters moving out of the rink to make room for a group of other young hockey clad children like the unnamed boy. "Sorry, are we in the way?"

"No, Coach Saunders hasn't come yet. We just play for fun before he comes, not that playing for him isn't fun. Actually, he's my favourite coach out of all the coaches I've ever had. Ever. Too bad he's got school and can only help us on weekends, otherwise I'd want him as my coach the whole time. Does she need ice for her head?" The boy rambles without a missed beat, still staring down at Abby.

Maya barely catches the boy's next tangent on skating preferences after spotting his favourite coach gliding towards him, "Cam?"

Cam appears happy to see her, though Abby's presence seems to especially pique his interest.

"Hello," he says to them both.

Abby jumps up, the sore side of her head forgotten, and she wobbles to steady herself on the blades of her skates. She extends her hand towards Cam. "Hi, I'm Abby!"

Cam puts his playbook away to properly introduce himself, smiling fondly at her, and tells Maya that there's an uncanny resemblance between them.

Maya joins Abby in standing, resting a hand on her shoulder, and she wonders why Cam's gaze follows this gesture. "Well, it's not that uncommon for that to happen. Everyone seems to think she's my—"

"Xander's daughter! Wow, she's gotten bigger." His realization comes with great enthusiasm, and he gives a nervous laugh, "I still have to get used to being back, remembering everyone all over again."

"You've been back for months now," Maya laughs good-naturedly, but she notices how Cam considers this carefully.

"I haven't been in the same places, or been with the same people for months…"

Abby is a bouncing ball of excitement in the middle of them, and she almost wobbles back down, clutching the back of her head again. So, after much prodding, the unnamed boy (Kyle, as Cam introduces him) gets the permission from Cam to grab the first aid kit.

"Are you going to play actual hockey?" Abby asks with gleaming eyes.

Cam chuckles, "Once Kyle comes back to help you, yes."

"Can we watch, Auntie M?" Abby pleads, shaking Maya vigorously until she finally gets an affirming nod.

Maya rolls her shoulders, giving Cam a sheepish smile.

"It's just scrimmage," he warns Abby.

"It'll be amazing!"

"She likes sports."

Kyle comes rushing towards them, ice showering the bottom of everyone's pants. Abby is overwhelmed by the care the boy is delivering her, as he gently presses the ice pack against the back of her head. Maya tries to bite away a smirk, noticing the way her niece flushes from the attention, and Cam exchanges a knowing look with her.

"Does Katie know she likes _hockey_?" Cam teases.

"No, but Auntie Katie should know that it runs in the family. God, I wouldn't be surprised if my sister has a lecture prepared for this exact situation." Maya rolls her eyes.

"I remember now… Some things are hard to forget." They laugh together, while the two children look on with mild curiosity.

Abby's bouncing still when they settle into the bleachers to watch Cam and the junior league team do their drills first. She comments on Cam's skill, how she knows a _good_ player when she sees one, and Maya agrees, and grins timidly at every compliment Abby pays the coach.

It's interesting how Abby certainly looks like her, Maya will even admit to this, but, where the young girl demonstrates genuine interest in the game, Maya is still completely lost watching Cam's team. So, when the last scrimmage finishes, she practically has to leap out of the bleachers to catch up to Abby, who is sliding in her sneakers towards Cam.

"Come to dinner with us," Abby is breathless, clutching at her chest when she reaches him.

"I—uh," Cam stammers as he looks at Maya, wordlessly seeking her input.

"Abby, Cam is a very busy person," Maya tries to explain to her.

"No," comes his abrupt interjection. "I mean, no, I'm not busy. I'd love to come, if that's okay...with you. If it's okay with your brother."

Maya stares blankly at him, while Abby squeals in delight.

"Sure…" Maya says slowly, keeping her gaze with him, searching for any indication that he'll be changing his mind any moment now. "I'll check with Katie."

It's a long wait for him outside the arena, and she's left with two options: leave a very lengthy and very loud voicemail concerning bringing an innocent child's hopes up or simply leave because she's sweating through her sweater from the anticipation.

"Hey," he calls, pulling her out of her thoughts, which had stretched from escape Plan A to Plan D. "You two don't need to take the bus, I've got my car."

Abby jumps out of her seat and is by Cam's side before Maya can respond, and it takes time for Maya to move because hearing his bright laughter, that Abby's effortlessly pulling from him, grips her where she sits.

"You coming?" Cam asks her though a waning fit of laughter, with a slight frown, maybe because he's nervous about her changing her mind too.

Maya moves because of Abby's eventual huffing, and pulls herself up to finally join them.

When they are in his car, Abby scoots close to her aunt in the backseat, and she makes a comparison to being driven by a chauffeur that elicits another laugh from Cam. Maya's not sure if Abby's aware that holding on to her niece's hand on the ride back home is effectively keeping her together.

Xander, ten years Maya's senior, a tall, grey-speckled brunet, introduces himself as Maya's older brother when Cam comes through the door. Cam has to remind him that they've met before, and Xander fumbles over his words, because he's _that _Campbell. Maya can see that Cam is nervous, possibly wondering if he's being labeled as the NHL prospect or the suicide kid her parents had let slip about within the family. The details of his attempt never left the school's walls. In fact, thanks to Simpson's help, it had hardly spread as a whisper within the school's walls. However, for the people that were privy to that night, and for Maya's family, speculation was still fresh on the mind whether it was spoken or unspoken.

But, they talk about other things at the dinner table, with Sandra, Xander's wife, Katie, and Abby in company. Unluckily, the hot seat has passed to Maya first.

"May, dad wanted me to ask you to come with us on Sunday, after church." Her older sister asks, without lifting her gaze from her plate.

Maya clenches her hand against her cold, perspiring glass of iced tea, and releases to answer, "I've got my orchestra practice."

"May, I'm going too, you know. Abby too." Xander offers timidly, pushing up his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking expectant.

Everyone looks expectant, save Cam, who looks on curiously.

"I, uh, can't miss this one, I'm _needed_." She can feel everyone's eyes on her, even Cam's, who she knows has no idea that her family is judging her and newest excuse.

"It's great that Maya's on the orchestra," Cam adds brightly, cutting the thick tension. "I, uh, saw a poster by the quad the other day. I knew you'd do amazing things with your music." He turns to look at her with a small smile.

Katie clears her throat, drinks from her glass of wine, while Xander agrees quietly. Sandra, as always, stays out of it.

"You guys are weird," Abby pipes up, looking exhausted, and everyone cannot deny the upward tug at their lips.

In fact, Abby continues where the adults leave off, as if she was aware of the need for something uplifting. In fact, she turns out to be a gracious host, serving Cam his food and drinks, so he happily indulges in her line of questioning. He tells her about his hockey accolades when he was younger, about his stint as an Ice Hound, and the first time he saw his first NHL game with his father. She's a ravenous questioner, never tiresome for his answers. So, while the Matlin family finishes their meal, Cam takes twice as long, earning a Maya's sympathetic side-glance.

By the time everyone has helped themselves to seconds of Katie's chocolate truffle dessert, Maya finds herself touching his hand during dinner, and she convinces him (or maybe herself) that she's trying to calm him and his jittery fingers that are drumming the hardwood tabletop. Katie asks Cam a question, and they are forced out of their fleeting shared pause to face the others at dinner.

"Mr. Cam, how do you know Auntie M?" Abby asks curiously, watching as their hands detach.

Xander tries to shush her, telling her the impoliteness in interrupting her Auntie Katie. But, Cam waves this off, entertaining Abby's curiosity with stories of his memories with Maya at fifteen, of her clumsiness, of her music, of her finalist wins for both Whisperhug and Miss Millennium. Maya finds herself flushing when he catches himself talking about a too detailed memory of her Miss Millennium dress.

"I mean," Abby interrupts him, exasperated, as everyone chuckles at Cam's wide-eyed reaction. "Do you and Auntie M love each other?"

Maya chokes on the last bite of her truffle, "A-Ab-by!"

Xander stares blankly at his daughter, Sandra gives a nervous chuckle, while Katie simpers into her glass. And Cam can only remain silent, wracking his brains for an appropriate response, one that escapes him now.

"What?" Abby searches the silent room for answers. "Mommy and I saw that movie with a man, and he held the lady's hand, and he said he loved her. And the girl said it back, and she was looking at him with googly eyes, crying, but I don't know why she was sad if he told her something nice. But, I _know_, you know. I'm not a baby…" She trails off, accusingly, putting her hands to her hips, pouting.

"Oh my goodness," Katie gasps dramatically. "I almost forgot about Brain Quest Challenge!" Katie jumps out of her seat to crouch beside Abby's seat, meeting the little girl's shocked eye level.

"Oh yeah!" Abby exclaims jumping out of her own seat, dancing in excitement. "I have the answer to your last question in my journal!"

Maya eyes Katie following Abby's frenzied wake, shooting her sister a grateful smile as they race upstairs to their niece's bedroom. Xander soon follows suit with Sandra, stating that they need to clean up, but refuse Maya's or Cam's help. It's when the couple close the dining room doors behind them, when the silence returns, that Maya feels the urge to pinch herself, wondering how Cam had gotten here, wondering how she had gathered the courage to be near him, even touch him.

"Hey," his careful tone is a welcome transition from the quietness; his hand finds hers this time. "Can I show you something?"

She watches his leading hand the whole way to the living room, even after he lets her go, even when he turns away to search through his hockey duffle bag. Even when they sit across from each other on the couch, she watches him carefully.

"Remember this guy?" He says, his hand grasping on to something fuzzy and familiar.

"Hoot!" She exclaims, grabbing for her long-lost friend, noticing its colouring looking different than she remembered. "You've kept him this whole time?"

"When I can, he's in there for luck." He explains, eyeing his bag, and then gestures to her wrist. "Is that why you keep..."

Maya so rarely draws her attention here, where his charm bracelet rests between two other bangles on her wrist. It's a blind grab in the morning for these so often worn accessories, accessories she sometimes forgets she wears, so she takes a moment to realize how significant the aging silver with red ribbon is to her now.

"Why wouldn't I keep it?" She asks him, fingers lightly tracing the ribbon laced within her charm bracelet. When she finally looks up, she is taken aback by his eyes waiting to lock with hers.

"I'm glad you did." He scoots closer to her.

"I've kept a lot of things from back then." She shrugs, curling her toes under the weight of her crossed legs as he draws closer. "Remember the night I gave you Hoot?"

"Couldn't forget the 'best night ever'," he admits, grinning widely.

"How would your super-macho-goons-for-teammates feel about an itty-bitty stuffed animal hiding in their captain's hockey gear?"

He narrows his eyes in feigned contempt, "I'd kill to keep up appearances."

They share a laugh, and he sighs, rubbing his eyes.

"Have you been getting enough sleep?" She asks, gesturing to his eyes, but he is puzzled, so she impulsively touches the corners of his eyes. "They're red."

"I-uh-I've been stressed with playoffs." He says, holding her hands in place. "It's normal. I'll get rest after this season's over." He tries to laugh off this sad truth, but sobers quickly, perhaps because she's leaning fowards now.

But she stops, and he instinctively lets her go, her hands drop into her lap. "I didn't expect you to say yes. I mean, this whole friend thing...What does that even mean, right? Do we hang out around friends, do we-"

"I've been thinking about you, a lot," he blurts out. "

"Oh." Heat rises in an instant, warming her skin.

"I was thinking that I went to Woody's with the team every night, kidding myself when I tried to convince myself that I wasn't there for you. I was thinking a lot about what I want...and I know I don't want to be friends."

"_Oh_."

"You were right, we were never friends. I've always wanted more with you."

The hammering that had been slowly building in Maya's chest since they had been left alone is deafening now, so she strains her ears as he continues.

"Three years is a long time, and I tried everything, believe me, I _really _tried to forget about us when I was back home. Some days were easier than others, and it helped being so far away, but seeing you again, being near you again..." He forcefully blows out air. "And every time I saw that little guy, this thing I couldn't get rid of, the only thing I had left of you," he steals Hoot from behind her, and smiles fondly at it. "I saw you, and I realized that I never forgot; I could never forget."

"I took up skating because of you." She spills as if she was bursting with this thought, and Cam furrows his brows. "When you took me skating with you for the first time, I remember you telling me to close my eyes, and you helped me along. I try to do it on my own sometimes, and I know it'll never replace how good it felt with you there, but I did it anyways. I don't know if you ever just want a do-over, rewind time, back to when it was that simple, before everything turned to shit. But, I do. Sometimes that helpless wishing is so strong. Do you have any idea-"

"Yes," he rushes to answer, his eyes are gleaming, "Yes, of course I do."

His nodding feverishly to add to his response is the last thing she processes him doing before she feels his warm mouth over hers, and her eyes momentarily stay wide to see his brows furrow in deep concentration before she responds with the same urgency. She feels him pressed against her, hands everywhere, as she leans her back towards the arm of the couch, and he feels as hot as his lips.

"Wanted. This," he breathes over her mouth. "So. Long."

It's when his tongue darts inside her gasping mouth that she realizes where they are.

"C-Cam! Oh my God, Cam!" She pushes him up. "We can't do this."

"_God_," He sits up, vigorously rubbing his eyes, looking as though he had been struck in the back of the head. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't stop mys-"

"Neither could I." She stands now and his eyes follow her nervously. "But, we can't-"

"_Right_." He interrupts her sharply, and there is something about the way his eyes tremble in a vaguely familiar way that has her worried. "_You're right_."

She's slightly wary of his tone, but she continues, "We can't right now-"

"_Oh God. Fuck, I'm sorry, I thought-_" He buries his face in his hands, rocking himself, muttering under his breath, "I knew this would happen. I knew it. Shit, I knew it. I just knew I'd fuck this up somehow. _I knew it_."

"No, no, it's not you. This isn't the best time-"

He looks up, and the red in his eyes seems more apparent now. "I SAID I'M SORRY!"

"Cam, please," she's taken aback, hurt.

"_No, don't_," he moves away, evading her reach. "I knew it. I knew it. _I knew it_."

Without warning, he gets up, grabbing his things as Hoot drops, forgotten on the floor, and he stalks towards the door, still muttering angrily to himself. She is almost left forgotten too, too stunned.

"CAM!" She finally snaps back, calling after him as she follows him to Xander's porch.

He's already in his car, slamming the car door behind him, by the time she's run, tripped, and staggered towards him. She sees his tears through the darkness of his car, and there is a momentary flicker in his gaze that seems as though he's calming by her presence, but it only lasts as long as a breath. He speeds away when she approaches his car again.

When she sees the last of his car lights, the long glowing lines vanishing around the corner of her brother's street, she gulps painfully, realizing the vaguely familiar look in his eyes after rejecting him was not unfamiliar at all. In fact, she trembles to use her cell phone, and she finds her fingers punching in a number she thought she had lost a long time ago, as if this was all something she had dreamed up thousands of times before, etched into her memory.

"I need your help."

* * *

Mike Dallas, who had to leave his son with his mother after her phone call, is sneaking Maya furtive glances on the speedy ride to Cam's. She hears him offer her a reassuring sentiment sometime after her breathing had calmed, something about everything being 'okay', but all she hears are the _other _things, like 'off meds' and 'another episode'. All she knows is that she had not known about any of it, and her stomach is turning and twisting because of how familiar that feeling is.

There are too many steps to his apartment unit on the eigth floor, but Maya is determined and she barely realizes she's panting from the climb when they reach unit number 879. Dallas is not winded, however, and starts at once.

"Yo, Birdman!" Dallas calls through Cam's door, and Maya is amazed at the lightness in his voice, when she can clearly see sweat beading down his forehead.

"Mike?" Her heart quickens from Cam's weak response.

"Hey, man, sorry I didn't call before I got here, but I was just in the neighbourhood and—"

"I messed up," Cam cuts in, frustrated. "I couldn't stop my idiot mouth, I couldn't even stop myself from-I messed up bad."

"Talk to me, just open the door and talk to me." Dallas gives Maya a cautious look, possibly reconsidering her presence here. Maya folds her arms over her front.

"I—I can't." Cam stammers. "Trust—just trust me. I'm fine. It'll pass. I don't need—"

"You stopped your medication."

Cam doesn't answer.

"They're prescription drugs." Dallas tells him calmly. "They are prescribed to help you, why make it harder for yourself?"

A loud thud at his door startles both them, and then Cam's snarl physically moves them, Dallas stays, though his fists shake to his sides, and Maya jumps back.

"Because now I won't have to pretend like I'm normal anymore. " Cam's voice is hoarse.

"Cam," Maya hears Dallas' own voice falter, his forehead pressed to the door. "None of us are normal, not really."

"Don't feed me that," Cam scoffs. "I'm past that psycho babble now, if you've forgotten. So I don't need you becoming my shrink. I don't need anybody telling me to take my meds."

BANG. Maya jumps again, her back to the wall across Cam's door. Dallas takes a few more shots at the door again_. BANG. BANG. BANG_.

"_DON'T_." Dallas warns him, dangerously. "_DON'T YOU DARE MAKE ME FIND YOU LIKE BEFORE_."

Cam is silent again.

"Don't make you find you like before," Dallas persists, quieter.

"Mike, I'm fine." Cam assures him, sighing.

"Then prove it, because I'm not leaving until you do."

"I'm off the meds, that's all."

"Irritability?" Dallas speculates.

"Yeah."

"Not sleeping well, huh?"

"Exactly."

"Mood swings."

"Extreme, like tonight."

"What were you thinking?" Dallas asks patiently.

"I just wanted to try—so I could go drinking with you—"

"You don't even like it when you actually do get wasted with your team, even if you let the meds interact, man."

"So I didn't have to worry about what people would think."

"You've seen me on my kinda 'meds', and you don't judge me. So, why would I do that to you?" Dallas snickers.

Cam gives a hallow laugh. "But, the biggest joke about all of this is, and it's _hilarious_, she doesn't want me either way. Not then, not now."

"Did you really expect to get _busy _in her brother's house? I mean, doesn't the guy have a kid there too?"

"What? No, no, _no_. I mean, yes, he does. But, Jesus," Cam flusters. "She was there, I was there. Finally. We were talking. And I just miss her so much..."

"So..."

"So...it was a lot to handle, _so much_, and I couldn't stay careful like I've tried to be this whole time. I was impulsive. And the first sign of trouble, like she's changed her mind, I just went off. All of those stubborn, paranoid thoughts from before came back, and I couldn't help it-I couldn't think-I could see her trying to tell me something, but I couldn't help it. _Shit_-"

"Relax, breathe," Dallas instructs him. "That's your mood swinging again, bro."

Cam exhales heavily. "Whatever happened, happened. She won't want me _now_."

Dallas watches Maya as he says, "You don't give her enough credit." And Maya wonders how much has been said about her between the pair.

The door lurches a bit, and Maya's heart leaps into her throat. When she steps forward, Dallas puts a hand up, looking nervous. She moves to the side, eyeing the corner where a wall obscures the view of the staircase, and Dallas gestures towards it. When the door opens fully, Maya has already settled in a spot behind the wall, drying her teary eyes and straining her hearing.

There is an inaudible flurry of words, Dallas' voice maybe muffled by an embrace.

"You're an asshole," Dallas chokes out, and Maya can't imagine him in tears, but she hears him repeat the insult in a strangled attempt.

"Yeah, well, so are you." Cam is quiet, calmer.

Maya wants this to be her cue to come out, tell him she's here. But, she hesitates.

"Let me see them," She hears Dallas order him sternly. "Your wrists, man."

Cam winces, and she hears a litany of swears that Dallas is trying to keep under his breath, but they come out angry and loud. She imagines slits, gashes, blood, and Cam's pained expression. She can't help that the other images come too.

The catwalk. The feigned smiles. The greenhouse. His dazed expression when she lifts him up to look up at her, his apologetic cry in the greenhouse. Dallas lifting his limp body in the greenhouse. The pool of dark red in the greenhouse that he leaves behind as the ambulance takes him away. The missed blood stains left in the greenhouse, long after he had recovered.

Maya finds a trash can outside of St. Clair Apartments to vomit into. And next to everyone else's garbage, slumped over on a curb, she realizes that she has decided to not show her face after all. But what is gutting her now, and makes her take another go at the trash can, is the fact that she almost missed another close call for him. How many times would she see until she misses another completely, until it's too late?

Dallas may be on to something when he says normal is not being normal. The 'normal mould' is fitting a certain description, one that leaves no fault unscrutinized and when said faults are found they are subsequently stamped out. She always thought she prescribed to believing in this traditional view of 'normal'. She always supposed her friends all fit the bill of being not normal. There's Zig who hates handouts so he stole things before, still does, but he won't admit he enjoys the thrill too. Tristan still hides behind masks to meet new people, sometimes committing to it so much that he starts believing he is his characters. Cam cuts because he's got a mental illness, something he's so ashamed of that he hides too. Maya, on the other hand, thought she was untouchable. She pays her bills, stays out of trouble, takes the occasional, neccessary vitamin, and plays classical cello for God's sake.

So, when she arrives home, defeated and wondering how to explain her disappearance from both friends and family, it's crippling to realize that she's as Dallas' definition describes, and even worse than the rest. She let the years idly pass by, figuring Cam had forgiven and forgotten her silence, even now as she knows he needs help, she denies her involvement. She blows off her father's requests to visit her mother's grave on Sundays, after church, even when Katie and Xander bargain for her time. She won't even admit to any of it.

What's worse still, she sits in her chair now, cradling her bow and her cello, her best friends, practicing as if nothing had happened tonight. Even as Dallas' words cut into her again, she sits. Even when she realizes that she is Maya Matlin: deserter, runner, and coward.


	7. Perfect

**A/N: The song featured as another 'Maya original' is Broken by Jake Bugg. Another recommendation for a listen while reading their interactions. Again, thank you for the continued support and kind words from the readers, you guys are awesome! **

* * *

**December 18, 2011**

"Oh my gosh, babe!" Margaret Matlin is ecstatic behind her daughter, shaking her hand. "Look at you, you look-"

"Ridiculous mom, I look like a Christmas tree." Maya stands in front of the mirror, smoothing out the front of her moss green dress, lifting the ruched bodice embellished with gold stitching. "And I have no boobs, maybe I should wear something with sleeves so this doesn't come sliding off me."

"Stop being fussy, and come down here, so I can pin your hair. Now, you know you can't change wardrobe or that miserable choir director of yours will throw you out of the entire production." Her mother laughs, as she runs her fingers through her curls. "And it's perfectly _fine_, by the way."

"What's fine?" Maya's on her knees, so her mother can comb through her hair comfortably.

"Not knowing how beautiful you really are," her mother smiles, eyeing her in the mirror.

"You're my mom, you're supposed to say that stuff to make me feel better. I'm never going to look like, I don't know, some baton twirling beauty contestant."

Margaret laughs to herself. "One day, you're going to find out how special you really are, and I won't be the only one telling you."

"What, like a boy?" Maya mumbles, but her mother catches her wistful look.

"Ah, boys." Margaret helps her daughter to stand now. "I was hoping I didn't have to talk to you about that stuff until high school or at least until you got into sophomore year."

"I'm fourteen, mother." Maya says indignantly.

"The point I'm trying to make, babe," Margaret ignores her, laughing again. "Is that you're perfect. Like this, and always. No matter what, no matter who tells you otherwise."

"Don't cry please." Maya rolls her eyes.

"Perfect. Just beautifully perfect." Margaret does cry.

Maya doesn't want to admit how much the tears get to her, so she kneels again, facing her mother, biting back the urge to cry her own tears. "Mom…"

"Promise you'll believe that."

"Mom…"

"I just don't want you thinking you're not or that you can't be, even when I won't be able to remind you."

Maya gulps, "Mom…"

"Promise." Margaret takes hold of Maya's hands in her lap, squeezing them here. She's always making her promise her things, trivial things about chores and not wearing short shorts in public and calling home before sleeping over at a friend's house, but never something so important as this. At least, Maya thinks this means more than her mother is leading on.

"Of course. I promise."

The Christmas pageant goes on, with Maya fidgeting in the green dress a few times, while her mother locks her sights on her throughout the entire show. She's cheerful and laughing, and it's as if the promise she made to her mother earlier was not as solemn as it seemed.

* * *

**December 20, 2016**

She closes her eyes whenever she plays. It's nothing new, she knows, since she's seen countless performers do it before her. It looks like they lose themselves in the soundscape they create, and it _feels_ that way when she does it too. Some attest that it helps bridge the gap between reading from the sheets and truly knowing the music; it's said to help you play with an open heart, with joys, pains and all.

The day of the Youth Orchestra audition, three years ago, she made the mistake of keeping her eyes on the interviewers and judges. Only, she realizes it was something she had done consciously to stop herself from getting lost. Being lost meant she would have seen Cam in a pool of blood, and completely laying her heart open meant she'd also see her mother, looking pure in white, and dead.

Now, in the orchestra pit, playing for Sunday's last crowd before Christmas break, she struggles to keep her eyes open on less than an hour's worth of sleep. It didn't help that she was also struggling against another winless battle. Since the night she had left Cam's apartment, she had kept envisioning what Cam's wrists would have looked like. _Did Cam spill blood on his floor, on his jeans he wore to Xander's house? Do his wrists look red and swollen from injury? Did they stitch him up in the hospital? _These thoughts kept with her, even when she tried to clear her head to perform with the rest of the music company in the following days.

She expected the calls from Dallas (none from Cam), but she doesn't answer them, and she would use the excuse of her conductor's strict rules of cell phones to good use when the time came to explain herself.

But, she does end up closing her eyes, missing her cue to emphasize the crescendo with her cello. When she tries to catch up with the rest of the band, she clashes with their notes, earning a withering stare from the conductor. She wants to melt into her seat and evaporate into thin air. She resigns with slumping back in her seat instead, closing her eyes again.

"Sleepy Little," Katie wakes her, leaning against the audience railing bar that separates them.

Maya is the only person left in the orchestra pit, and wonders how long she had been sitting alone after the memory of Dr. Offenbacher spitting his grief about her 'catastrophic' mistake 'at the cost of the music company' comes rushing back as a walloping smack to her head.

"It wasn't noticeable, I didn't hear any mistakes." Katie says soothingly, but Maya closes her eyes again in response.

"You don't know the first thing about classical…anything, Katie." Maya mutters, rubbing her eyes open to Katie's sheepish smile.

"I do know you beat yourself about these types of things and—"

"These things matter." Maya cuts in, anger flaring.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Spare me."

"Maya," Katie finally bites back. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong with you, or is this going to be like one of our million attempts at playing the silent game?"

"It wasn't perfect!" Maya lashes out, standing, cello clattering to the ground. "What a _stupid, stupid_ thing to be."

"Maya…" Katie jumps the railing to meet her sister, reaching out, only to have Maya swat her away. Katie stops her from stomping on her cello, pushing her back into her seat.

"_No one_ can be perfect. She—she—was wrong. What a stupid thing, to think that I—I will never be the way she said I was—could be." Maya hunches over, gasping for air through her tears.

Katie crouches low, holding on to her regardless of Maya's struggling against her. "You're right," Katie tells her. "No one can be perfect. But, mom—"

"Don't," Maya warns her, calming in her grasp. "Don't talk about her."

Katie releases her, but stays, grasping at her shaking hands. "When will you be able to, May? You weren't the only one at the funeral. You weren't the only one carrying her casket down the cemetery. Just because you went, doesn't mean it's over and done with. You haven't visited her since that day, years ago….talk to me…"

Maya remains silent, but Katie must recognize the way her legs are skittish, restless. "Did something happen?"

"She told me," Maya gulps. "She made me promise to remember that I was perfect."

Katie's hands move Maya to look up at her. "Then you're perfect."

"But, it's so hard ," she sobs. "It's so hard to hold it together when I think of her, when I think about how much I lost, or almost lost that year…"

"May, Mom wanted to make you feel the way we all feel about you. Deep down, I think you know that it didn't mean you had to get those grades in school, or that you have to have the applause from strangers for music you know through and though anyway. I think you know that mom wanted you to see that you're an amazing sister, aunt, friend. That's perfect enough for her, and it should be enough for you. Whatever faults you have, you're enough for me too."

"I'm a terrible friend. I abandon my friends."

"Your friends are your friends because they see past all the shitty stuff that happens between you and them. It's never too late to remind them of that."

Maya cannot explain why this is the first time she's hearing her sister clearly, as if her words had only reached her now, because she's finally taken aback by it. It may also be in part due to her hopefulness that these words sound louder and truer than her insecurities.

"Katie," Maya struggles, folding her arms around her sister for support. "Can I come with you?"

"What?"

"Today's Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Katie smiles into her sister's hair, kissing the top of her head. "Yeah."

* * *

_The paper is thin, flimsy in her hands, so it shakes with the fragile, unsteady force she holds it in._

'_Margaret Matlin is survived by her husband, Brenden Matlin; her eldest daughter, Katie Matlin; and her youngest daughter…'_

"Maya," she hears a distant, foggy voice call her. Through the fogginess, she sees a hand reach for her.

Maya gasps as she wakes with a start, straining to gather where she is.

"Maya," it's a he who is calling her, and she readjusts the glasses she's wearing to see him clearly.

"Cam," she realizes. "I meant to call—"

"Maya, have you been here all night? What's wrong?" And she's acutely aware of his selflessness, how he's putting her first, instead of guarding himself against her.

"I—uh—" Maya shifts uncomfortably in the seat she had staked out the night before, in front of his apartment door.

She watches him watch her with his unwavering concern, waiting for her answer.

He relents, "I'm going to get my mail downstairs. If I tell you to sit in my kitchen, should I expect you to stay?" There isn't spite in his voice, but she wonders if he's biting it back.

Maya nods, so he helps her up. And he grabs for her guitar case before she can do it herself.

He clears his throat, letting her hand go when he realizes his own is lingering. "I made coffee. Coffee and breakfast. You can help yourself to anything you want."

Maya finds herself roaming inside instead of sitting still, wanting to take in everything about his living space. It's tiny, she notes, but cozy. It's different than the makeshift bedroom she remembers which his billet family prepared for him, where he had left it sterile and barely had any evidence of him actually settling in. Here, in his new space, there are many things, evidence of experiences, family, and friends. She finds a particular spot where he's kept a planter of a single flower growing.

"Peace lily," he explains, re-entering his apartment.

Maya turns to face him, feeling anxious as if she had been caught snooping.

"It was my therapist's idea a year ago. After I stopped seeing him, I realized that I actually liked it. Gives me something different to look at in the morning as opposed to my roommates tastes in decor." He gestures towards posters of scantily clad women plastered over the fridge.

Maya gives him a small smile, "It's fine. But, it's too bad your little sister has to be pinned up next to that." She touches the lily's petal before turning to face him again, "You've really changed."

He doesn't respond, possibly waiting, maybe curious of her presence here.

"I mean, the Cam I remember wouldn't have tried things like growing peace lilies, let alone admit it _helps_." She assures him.

His eyes flicker, and he quietly stares her way. The sunlight, filtering through his windows and bathing him, shifts as if it's now hiding behind dense clouds. Without the warm, forgiving hues, she can see the dark circles more clearly under his eyes. His normally coiffed short hair is shaggier than usual, and there is visible stubble under his chin. She wonders if he's getting any more sleep than she is.

"How's your family?" She asks.

"They're fine." He finally responds, filing his mail into a nearby drawer, and then focuses on her again. "They say hello, by the way. Mick keeps bugging me to tell you that, but I always forget."

She bites her lip, suddenly conscious of her unannounced presence.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here," she starts, because he's bound to ask her soon. "I came here because I need your help."

He should be spurning her request, telling her off for all the reasons they both know she cannot be here. Then he answers, "Whatever you need."

She moves forwards, standing in front of him with a notebook brandished underneath her nose.

He raises a brow, "You do remember me getting tutoring in high school, right? I'm not exactly the right—"

"It's my lyric book," she drops her notebook to answer.

They sit side by side on his coach, and Maya hesitates to continue as she really thinks about their last encounter, thinking that apologies are in order, that he might want to say something first. But, he stares on, expectant for her instead. "I'm having trouble with a song, and I need your opinion."

Cam releases an uneasy laugh. "May, are you sure this isn't a job for someone else. I don't know, like Zig?"

"No, I need _you_." She tells him seriously, and he nods slowly, and starts drumming his fingers over his knees.

For moment, she can see the conflict in him, maybe he's thinking about changing his mind after all. Maybe he's thinking that he needs to apologize for what had happened now. So, when she sees his eyes downcast, sees him folding his hands together, and opening his mouth, she puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Cam, I really need help with this _first_…"

He searches her eyes before he nods.

"I, uh," she begins slowly. "I wrote this song to play at Woody's for some fans. I just can't seem to get this part," she pauses to open her notebook. "This part is tricky. I want to hear it through another perspective."

She puts the notebook on his lap as she gets up to grab her guitar out of its case. When she joins him again, she smiles to see him reading her song with such concentration.

"This is great, May," he tells her. "But, what perspective are you talking about?"

"Listen," she says, before adjusting her guitar strap over her front.

_I'll wait here for you for I'm broken down.  
I'm coming down this time for my heart lies  
Far and away where they took you down.  
Let them over to your house  
Where I'm broken_

She stops abruptly, "I just—"

"Why'd you stop? That was beautiful."

"I just don't know how this is supposed to sound. You—you should-could you help me?"

He shakes his head in realization. "Maya, I don't sing. You know that."

She slumps back, and releases a heavy sigh. She stares at him, dramatically defeated.

"Okay, okay," he clears his throat, and she quickly sits up in anticipation. He laughs at her wide-eyed expression. "You know I'd only do this for you, right? Once my roommate comes in, I'm done. My karaoke days are ov—"

"Get to it, Saunders," she snaps.

"How will I even know how to sing this?"

She starts plucking the melody, and nudges his side. He swats her away, and clears his throat again. He hesitates, and she has to start over, singing quietly to encourage him. He helps her soon, building on his volume.

_Down by the people if they let you breathe  
Don't give a damn if you still can't see,  
Still my heart beats for you...  
...have become_

All I lost and all I hoped for  
But I must carry on  
Always one  
Never broken

He stops, and she cannot contain herself. "Oh my gosh," she gushes.

He pushes the notebook away, scrubbing his face.

"I'm joking, keep going. Come on," she pushes his side again. "_Please_."

He starts without notice, and she grins as she joins in.

_Run to the lobby where I saw you try  
Don't give a damn for your  
Reasons why we're so  
Down in the valley where the church bells cry  
I'll lead them over to your eyes  
I am one  
I am one_

_Break a story of_  
_Peace and love in a future_  
_Bright sacrifice came around_  
_Never broken_

_Down by the people if they let you breathe_  
_Don't give a damn if you still can't see_  
_Travlin' street that I did not know_  
_Wheels like tong to the winter lope_  
_Down in the valley where the church bells cry_  
_I'll lead them over to your eyes_  
_I am one_  
_I am one_

"Did you," he wants to continue, but he's timid, unsure. "Did you write this for..."

"I wrote it for you right after you left for home."

Cam nods, smiling appreciatively. "It's amazing, thank you. I really don't do it any justice though."

"People would kill for your voice. It's a shame you're hiding it."

He finds interest in his hands, as he's wringing them.

"It's a shame you hide things."

He abruptly moves up from his seat, pauses as he crosses the room to look out his window, then sits at the kitchen table, staring determinedly into his breakfast.

When she joins him, she asks, "Are you okay with me being here?"

"Maya, of course," he looks up, irritated.

It's when she's adjusted her seat across from him that her eyes finally fall over his wrists that peek from underneath his sweater. Cam notices, and moves to hide them.

"Don't," Maya says as she stops him, grasping his bandaged wrists as they lay open in front of her. "It's okay."

He's wary of her touch, where they trace the borders of the white gauze. "Dallas told me you came with him that night."

"I'm sorry I left," she tells him right away, her hands in her lap now. "I was working through some things of my own that night. I wanted to be there for you, but I—"

"Scared?"

She nods.

"Maya, I get it. I should've taken my meds, I should've told you that I was _on _meds. I didn't mean to scare you, but I was scared too, completely terrified of you hating me, of losing you again. You don't have to worry about me going ballistic anymore. I'm back on them." He takes a deep breath. "Look, I know it's a sore spot. _No_, it's a huge gaping hole of crappy circumstances between us and—"

She raises her hand, and he quiets. "You have to stop doing that," she can't help the weakness in her voice, the way it trembles. She gulps, "_We_ have to stop putting ourselves down for… how fucked up we are. And we _are_ fucked up. Can I show you something this time?"

He nods slowly, his hands still open to her. She pushes a tiny piece of paper in one of them.

_Margaret Matlin is survived by her husband, Brenden Matlin; her eldest daughter, Katie Matlin; and her youngest daughter, Maya Matlin. _

"Your mom's obituary..." He trails off, watching her move towards him, as she kneels before him now.

"I never visited her after the funeral, but I kept that, like it was the best I could do for her. Believe it or not, Cam, but I'm worse off than you. I couldn't even face the fact that I had this problem. And I avoided my own mother and my issues this whole time. I'm a coward, a deserter, a-"

"Maya, you're not-"

Maya shakes her head, "Let me finish."

He quiets, nodding for her to continue.

"I was arrogant. I was a stupid, stupid girl who thought she was unbreakable. I thought everyone around me had the problem, even you. But, me, you, everyone I know, we're all insane in our own ways. But, that doesn't actually matter, not unless we make it matter and control our lives." She sighs, feeling lighter. "I visited my mom yesterday, and I did the other day with Katie too. I don't know why I've waited so long to do it, because it was the most honest I felt in a long time. I'm done running away from everything and everyone, especially myself."

"That's great, May." He takes her hands in his lap.

She tastes saltiness when she licks her lips, and Cam moves to dry the tears under her eyes.

"Cam," she says. "Can you promise me something?"

He gets out of his chair, moving it out of the way to make room as he kneels with her too, his hands still clinging to hers.

"You're perfect," she tells him, shaking in his grasp. "You've survived this long because you're strong, so strong and brave. You're facing it all again, facing me and these ghosts you must see around this city, and making sure you're taking control. You're perfect. Promise me you'll never think otherwise."

"I'm not-"

"The way you are. Now. And whatever will happen between us, as friends, as _us_, if you don't want anything to do with me after this, you'll always be perfect. Promise me you'll believe that."

She can see he's struggling, wanting to say otherwise, but there must be something in the way she looks at this moment that's moving him. She sees his features shift in the slightest, then his eyes light up as though he's never heard anyone say something so beautiful, as though he'd been waiting for too long for someone to come along and tell him just this.

"I promise," he nods, trembling and beaming.

All it takes is for her to finally smile back, and his arms encircle her, bringing her into a tight embrace. They rock together, and he's mumbling happily, "I promise, I promise."

She pulls away to ask, "I'm trying so hard not to make you promise other things…for me, right now…"

"Maya," he looks at her, holding her face in his hands. "You don't have to ask me to promise _that_. Even before I left, even after all this time of trying to forget, I kept _that _promise. The one thing you will never have to worry about is that I _haven't _and _won't _ever stop waiting for you."

"I was hoping you wouldn't," she grins, her tears flowing again.

She brings his face forward, but stops, curling her fingers in his hair, waiting for him to react. He closes his eyes, and she moves again. Their lips meet tentatively, warming slowly to each other. They savour it, nothing is a push or pull towards more. And it doesn't last long, though she's grateful as she's greeted with his eyes, crinkling at its corners, watering, and his smile, so wide and sincerely happy.

They part, sitting under his table in silence, their hands stay entwined. At one point they make a move to get up, but quickly change their minds as they sit again, closer together as he drapes his arms around her. And they sit, content with just this. When she rests her head near the crook of his neck, she knows that he must be dwelling on the same thoughts, because they do not move or speak for the rest of the morning.


	8. Post Modern Romance

**A/N: Thanks for the patience on this one. Hopefully, it'll do for now, because I'm kind of excited for you to read the next chapter! Once again, thanks so much for the reviews and kind words on tumblr. You're all dolls. =)**

* * *

**January 5****, 2013**

She's pretty sure his newfound eagerness has more to do with him realizing _he can_, rather than realizing she's here. In fact, she's seen his eyes watching her before, especially when he knows she's caught him and he blushes a bright red from ear tip to collarbone. Until now, his lack of actually 'going for it' has been the reason for her chosen Miss Millennium talent song. Now, he leads her to his bedroom, after she takes off the heels she had cursed since donning them for the contest. Until now, she's sure he'd been holding back things she only had speculated about when his eyes have traveled slowly over face, and even slower over her body. Now, he's telling her he's never seen her in a dress before, and that he's finding it hard to look away.

"Now?" Maya instinctively raises her hand to her chest, and she realizes her breathing is hitching and racing.

"Now." He tells her, his eyes are darker in the dim lighting of his bedroom.

He presses over her in his bed, his hurried hands hold her in place, and his mouth moves over hers, his breath is hot. He plunges his tongue farther than he's ever tested before, and she can taste something minty like toothpaste on her own tongue. He's clinging to her so possessively and he doesn't hesitate the way she's used to seeing him do from hearing a distant creak or rustle outside his bedroom; she knows he could care less if they're caught by his billet family. It's the way he's holding her so firmly against himself, like he's afraid she's already slipping away regardless of her apology for leaving him, that's making her skin slick and sear.

Then she feels him growing firm against the inside of her thigh, where he's pushing and grinding against her. He catches her eyes widen, and he does hesitate this time. "Sorry," he says, and she can see he's not only flushed from the heat, but the blushing, stammering boy she instantly recognizes breaks through the reverie of his fading cool exterior.

"Why?" She really isn't confused, but hopeful for his good intentions, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"It's not time yet."

She bites her bottom lip, and nods. She's grateful, sighing in relief because her mind can quiet its momentary panic with its various implausible excuses to leave, ones she knows he would not buy.

"We'll have another chance…one day."

"Count on it, stud," she jokes, eyeing the bulge below his waist.

Creaking just outside his bedroom and a rapping noise against his hardwood door effectively jars her from her straddled position above him. "Ah!" She yelps, arms flailing, body swaying because of the flailing.

"Maya!" He reaches for her too late as she tumbles towards the side of his bed.

She's in a tangle with his sheets, splayed below the foot of his bed, and he gazes down at her with a wavering worrisome expression. And when the knocking at his door ceases, they can't help but clutch at their sides from bursting with laughter.

* * *

**January 5, 2016 **

"Sorry," Cam apologies, flushing deeply.

She can't help but glance below his waist, where nothing seems to be stirring, even after the prolonged teasing in his bed and even after promises from the hour long text exchange before she arrived at his apartment. But, the dread sets in as she recalls the side effects she's read up on in passing since finding out about his medication. The statistics about impotence caused by anti-depressants festered quietly until now, now they tighten their roots within her. She gulps when she sees his nervous eyes watching her.

"Why?" She tries to sound curious, but she's hoping she's hiding enough of her disappointment to convince him.

"Just sorry."

She rises and moves from his lap, sitting upright at the foot of his bed, hugging her arms to her chest because she's losing heat in only her bra and panties. He falls on his back, drumming fingers over his bare chest, and then rubs vigorously over his eyes. When he groans loudly, she comes back to him, crawling over him until she rests her whole weight over him. He smiles weakly up at her.

Sighing, he moves her messy locks behind her ears. "You could be happy."

"I am," she assures him firmly, tracing the outline of his jawline.

"_Happier_," he clarifies, frowning.

She wants to assure him again, but he's already shifting under her, trying to get up. She lets him sit up, and watches him carefully. He's hunched over only in his boxers, and, even in the dim lighting that he's manipulated to set the mood, she can still see the muscle weight he's gained from training over the years in his sad posture; he's looks so handsome, healthy and strong, and she's stricken with the irony of this visual. He must feel helpless knowing he can't perform the way they both presumably expected and remembered he could. And she knows or she assumes there isn't anything worse than an athlete performing less than they aim for. He's frowning even deeper now, but she hesitates to put a hand over his shoulder.

Instead, she gets up and moves to his dresser where she's left her clothing. After she slips on her sweater and jeans, she watches him from behind her shoulder. He's eyeing his orange medication container in his hands, popping open the lid and snapping it back on again. From her short time of visiting him on the weekends, she's grown used to seeing him take his daily medication without a second thought, and he gratefully smiles her way whenever she makes herself at home, never minding the fact that he takes them at all. But, as it is, she watches him with concern as he hesitates to grab for his normal dose.

"Take it," she tells him when she joins him in bed again, squeezing his wrist reassuringly.

"I will, I just—" He doesn't meet her gaze.

"I don't care if it's affecting us like this," she says, shaking her head. "We—we can find a way."

He doesn't hide his frustration, but nods, popping the single pill into his mouth and downing the water bottle from his nightstand.

"We planned to take this slow anyway," she continues, but she can tell he's already drifting from the conversation. He's looking at the orange container again, shaking its contents.

He gulps when he finds her eyes again, though she knows his pill had already been swallowed. "You're an angel for not admitting that this is torture for you. You must be rethinking our promises too."

She feels an instant swelling of heat in the pit of her stomach. "Cam, don't. I would never," she says at once, but she doesn't mean to sound so angry.

He only smiles another small smile before he tilts upwards to kiss her forehead. She's even more heated by this. "I mean it. Don't think that way," she says.

He nods. "You're an angel. That's all I'm saying…"

* * *

**January 14, 2016**

Maya is tugged out of her daydream by Jill repeating herself for the fourth time.

"But you two didn't do…it?" Jill asks with her mouth open, while chewing at her burnt toast. "You mean to tell me, after all this build up-the heavy sighs, the longing stares, and the thick as brick tension you two carry around each other, dragging all of us into it, mind you—was so you two could cuddle and hold hands? What about your visit to Kapuskasing over the holidays? What about at Zig's New Year's Eve party? Anything at all?"

Maya glares at her as she sets her untouched glass of milk down. "We want to take things slow, Jill. Not every sexual encounter has to be some rabid race to the finish line, or have it laced with a teensy bit too much to drink so you can enjoy the walk of shame back home, without a single memory of any of it."

Jill glares back, and Maya bites her bottom lip when she adds, "Not that that's not fun, sometimes…"

Jill finishes her toast, takes her coffee mug with a delicate grasp, pinky finger poking upwards. Her tone is an octave higher when she speaks, "Oh, I forgot. Princess Maya enjoys missionary and receives gentlemen callers at decent hours of the night. Does he kiss his lady's hand good night instead?"

Maya blushes furiously.

"Oh my God, he does. But, you two obviously want to do it, right?" Jill is searching to find words because her tone is piteous instead of spiteful now.

Maya gets up to leave, groaning, hiding her face. Jill jumps from the kitchen table to follow her, which causes Maya to whip around, lashing out, "Of course we do! But, how was I supposed to know that the meds would affect stuff like that. I mean, I heard the likelihood was low. I can't even tell him I understand or feel sorry about it, because that would just make him feel worse about himself. It's crazy!" Maya's eyes are wide. "I've always wanted him, and want to remember that he's always wanted me too. But, now, all I have is the last time we did it, and all I remember was that it was our first time. I mean, it was a good first time, but it was also only our _first time_, and there was his issues, my issues, and that horrible break up. It's like we're not supposed to be happy together. There's always _something_."

Jill starts smoothing small circles over her back, and that's when Maya realizes she has to pace her breathing.

"Hun, slow is fine. Slow is good." Jill tells her, smiling encouragingly.

"I sound like some ungrateful, sex-crazed bitch."

"You sound normal."

"Just—just please promise me you won't tell anyone." Maya says, avoiding eye contact, and moves to the corner where her cello is nestled next to their new couch.

When she looks back because Jill had grown uncharacteristically quiet, she finds she's alone. "Jill! Did you hear me? I'm serious."

"Yeah, yeah," Jill comes out of her room and waves her off, pointing to the cellphone that's glowing against her cheek. She mouths that she's too preoccupied to be promising that.

"Urgh!" Maya groans loudly, and puts her cello away again. "I'm going out for coffee, don't wait up."

* * *

She's on edge because the line is long and she can almost taste the caffeine on her tongue, the scent reaching her as the shop opens and closes with the moving line that stretches just outside its entrance. She's about to turn around and head towards her apartment because she's started to get ticked with the way people are carelessly pushing and nudging their way closer to the coffee smell wafting through the chilly morning air.

She groans to someone poking her back, bracing herself to not to show too much of her gritting teeth. "Excuse me—"

"Maya Matlin." The voice is easy to recognize but she can't help but feel flustered on facing him with a tight-lipped smile that's desperate to hide her annoyance. Miles Hollingsworth III always had that effect on her, she supposes.

"Coffee?" He brandishes two warm, steaming cups of coffee in front of her. He snickers at her obvious debate of staying in line and ignoring him or taking the coffee.

"Almond milk, two sugars?" She tests him.

"Almond milk from the café on the other side of this street."

Maya's eyes widen, and when she gets a vigorous cough from an jittery-looking woman behind Miles, a signal for the line to move, she finally swipes the coffee from his hands.

"Stalking me now?" She brushes past him, taking a ravenous swig from her cup.

"Good morning to you too, and you're most welcome. Chilly out, isn't it." He catches up, smirking at her eyes rolling his way.

"My limo's just around the corner. Take a ride with me." Miles finds himself walking alone, and looks back to see her staring blankly in her halted steps.

"I knew this was tainted somehow." She stretches the cup farther away from her, as if she's about to drop it. But, her grip stays firms wrapped around the cozy.

Miles turns fully, and feigns a wounded look. "I can't do an old friend a simple favour?" He starts to chuckle, but he notices how her face falls completely.

"I haven't seen you in months, Miles. You can't pretend that—"

"That you're the heartbreaker? Not me." He laughs because she's fuming about the undeniable truth in his words.

She watches him approach her carefully, the long black coat he's wearing flutters with the wind, and it looks like he's wearing a cape. He looks pompous in his coordinated layers and too polished looks, and it's easy for her to glower up at him, arms crossed.

"You can't buy whatever you think you're buying from me."

He almost hesitates as he draws closer, but his eyes are only downcast for a moment before recovering. "Believe it or not, I happened to pass by you, and thought that you needed, I dunno, like you needed something, anything."

Maya's words to retort stay on her tongue she's holding.

"Come on." He clears his throat, smile returning. "Can't we just admit that I owe you as much you owe me."

She sighs, because a barrage of memories float in her mind's eye of Miles and his heartbreak and Miles and his still stinging words. "Where do you want to go?" She relents.

He only nods for his driver to come closer to the curb nearby, and Maya allows him to guide her inside, taking her hand back too quickly when he tries to usher her in completely. Here, she fidgets in the heated leather seats and she clings to the empty cup holders because she can't help but think of the many ways she had been brought into this limo by Miles before.

"Don't get any ideas, Matlin." He teases and she glares his way. "How's your coffee?"

"Fine."

"How's life?"

"Fine."

"Music?"

"Fine."

"Sex life?"

She chokes on the coffee sip she's taken in his line of questioning, and she's leaning backwards from his learning forwards. Maya is sure she's beet red, because she feels beet red. She will not give him the satisfaction, however, so she stares outside her car side window instead.

"So, you are dating someone new," he presses.

She finally turns to glare at him, while he snorts. "Don't," she warns him.

"The nerve!" He imitates her tone, and bursts into laughter. "Sorry. So, who's the lucky the guy?"

She is tight-lipped, and he gives her a pleading pout. "Come on, just between friends."

She wonders if he can tell, if her silence will click for him. It really was the only thing she couldn't talk to him about.

"No," Miles says in disbelief. "Seriously…wow. That's, well that's amazing, May. "

She faces him, curiously. His mouth is a thin line, and she is reminded of the rarest occasions when Miles is struck with so much weight that he is rendered speechless.

"He showed up out of nowhere, you know," she smiles softy, but feels her lips tug in the opposite direction in no time. "And now…"

"Trouble in paradise already?"

"Shut up."

"You know, I recall our only trouble in paradise was trying to keep our hands to ourselves. Oh wait—" His eyebrows are on the verge of waggling when she raises her coffee to his silk tie.

He laughs, "You know I'm only half-joking."

"Shut up," she repeats, slower, defeated.

Miles puts his coffee away, and raises his hands. She softens her frown when she sees that he's stopped smirking. He looks genuine with his concern here, but he's still leaning in close, so she's holding her coffee between them as if this will guard her. He moves any further, and it's steaming hot mess all over his designer denim.

But, he stays close enough for her to see that he's actually concentrating on his words before he lets them out. The limo shudders slightly, and it actually looks as though his bumping knees against hers make him uncomfortable. So, he turns to sit properly next to her, leaning against the leather seat instead of crowding her.

He clears his throat. "So, you won't tell me much about your life—"

"Nope."

"Guess mommy and daddy never taught you that sharing is caring—"

"Sharing and you is a dangerous combination."

"Right…"

"But, I'm not adverse to general advice from general details…"

Miles snorts, but obliges. "So, you find wonder boy again —I mean, because we all find our soulmate at fifteen, but things aren't as you expected."

She nods, but finds herself looking out her window again. He must notice how she feels, mortified and timid, because he's throwing her infuriating, pitying glances in her peripheral view.

"So, he's not wonder boy, he's not your soulmate. Maybe after all this time, you had to figure out he's not what you wanted all along. People change, feelings change."

"No," she curtly interrupts.

The limo lurches to a stop, and Miles gestures to the park that they've arrived at. Early in the morning, the sun is peeking out from the trees in the distance and there are a few people roaming and shivering around the man-made lake nearby. Her stomach turns because she's trying her hardest to contain the memories she knows he trying to exploit.

"When I first met you here, I thought you were the perfect girl. Sexy, mysterious, didn't want anything to do with me." He chuckles.

"Could you blame me? You practically had God's Gift to Women written all over your face."

He ignores this. "And even when you let me in, you never asked for anything more than I gave you. You didn't want that fairytale bullshit. It was too easy, too perfect. All my friends were jealous." He's beaming proudly.

"I know where you're going with this, and I don't want to get into the details of our past sex life, but yes, it was fantastic sex. Alright? It's out now. Happy? Can we move on to the 'but' I'm sensing here."

"A very big one. Massive, really." His lips are a tight line again before he continues. "Can I show you?"

She shakes her head in confusion until she finds his hands on her, cradling the back of her head as he leans in, his eyes are half-lidded. "Oh my God! Stop!" She pushes him off immediately.

"You see?"

"Turn this car around right now!" She yells to the darkened divider where she knows the driver sits behind, listening.

"No, wait Henry." He tells his driver, and then turns to her, serious.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't douse this over you." Her fingertips are grazing the top of her coffee cup.

"You turned cold."

"Of course I did. I literally just told you that I'm with Cam now. That we finally found each other after all this time. But, you take that as an invitation for you to suck my face?"

"Don't you see? I'm helping."

"No, this is some fucked up game you're playing again. Just like all the other fucked up things you did while we were together. I'm not going to sit here and listen to advice from a guy who tried to buy my trust and love like he buys his equally shallow friends or stock or property or whatever you do with your trust fund."

His mouth twists at this, but he doesn't retort. In fact, he sits quietly in his seat, busying himself by fixing his misaligned cuff links. She remembers the way he had twisted his mouth before, how he had lashed out with his own harsh insults, but, now, he is silent. When he meets her eyes again, she sees something very weary about them, and she can't help but rethink his intentions.

"I didn't think you'd actually react in a dishonest way," he explains. "No matter how much fun that would be," he adds, only half-heartedly smirking.

"So?"

"So, you reacted the same way I could never get used to when we were together. You turned cold."

"Cold…"

"Like, nothing I could do would warm you up to the idea of being with me for long. Like, you saw right through me."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be—"

He shakes his head, frustrated. "No, don't be. Don't you see the way you light up whenever you remember him. And I remember you remembering him. The smallest smile from a single mention of him is bigger than any smile you ever gave me. It's real." He sighs, and releases a hollow laugh. "Whenever we were together, no matter how intimate we got, I could never see that. I lost the day I tried to compete against that."

She remains still, waiting, because his right leg is bouncing, and he looks anxious to continue. She knows he's a proud person, and she can feel him fuming from what he might be perceiving as his dignity seeping out from his pores.

"I'm not trying to make you see how much you care about the guy."

"Sounds like a lecture to me."

"Can I talk, smart ass?"

She simulates her lips being zipper-locked.

"I'm just trying to remind you of us less fortunate souls, you know? People who don't find _the one_ at the Sadie's Hawkins Dance."

"It is different with him now…" She runs her fingers through her hair, and rests them in her lap, playing with her charm bracelet.

"It hasn't changed how you feel about each other."

She shakes her head.

"You knew that though."

She nods.

"You're scared it will."

"Terrified."

"Then don't let it. You're still the same, Maya. You still don't believe in fairytale bullshit, you write your own endings." He pauses, then smiles. "You knew that too, didn't you?"

She rests her hand on his bouncing leg, and looks up at him, smiling too. "It doesn't hurt to have a little encouragement."

When the car stops at her apartment complex, she pauses before exiting through her side of the limo, turning to face him.

"Couldn't resist, could you? One last favour, for old time sak—"

She kisses him on the cheek. "I never heard that, my lasting memory of you will be of a half decent guy. Thank you."

"Could you actually hold that thought while I call this one girl I tried picking up last night, she won't believe me."

She laughs out loud, "Goodbye Miles."

"Goodbye Maya." He winks before the door closes before him.

* * *

**February 7, 2016**

The hop to her step is halted on a particular Tuesday morning, when she enters the apartment, and she stumbles upon hearing Jill's confession. She wants to tear her hair out, but Zig stops her. Why is Zig even here? She wonders for a moment, breaking through her fury, but only for a moment.

"I told you that in confidence," Maya's teeth are barred. "And what is he doing here?"

"We were just hanging out." Jill says, wincing for some reason.

"Since when do you two hang out?"

"Since, since, well since—" Zig starts, but he's stammering and it's making Maya fume further.

"So, that means you told Zig too." Maya turns to Jill, her finger darting towards the dark-haired, still stammering boy.

"It's not a big deal, May." Jill tries weakly.

Maya just screams at the ceiling, collapsing on their couch as Jill and Zig stand a good distance away, stepping slowly back towards the kitchen. Then she turns to face them, causing them to root in place.

"You do realize that Cam's most likely holed up in his apartment for good now, and will probably never speak to me again. I mean, you two knowing about our problem, and him knowing you two know must be killing him right now."

"You're being dramatic," Zig finally breaks through his nervousness. "He pretty much jumped at the idea of us helping you two."

"I mean, now I want to lock myself in—wait, what did you just say?" Maya says slowly.

"Jilly and I—" Zig begins.

"Don't call me that." Jill interjects. "Now, before you take that dangerously heavy textbook I know you're eyeing to chuck at my head, hear us out. We have been skirting around this issue for a month or so now, and don't pretend like this isn't affecting us too. You two are, like, the worst."

"The worst." Zig repeats, nodding.

Maya glares at them.

Jill crosses her arms, staring her down. "It's been weeks of the pained sighs and avoiding topics about the bedroom, and we're sick of hanging out with a pair of bumbling, prepubescent teenagers who blush at the idea of the three bases."

"We are not like that," Maya balks, standing up with the hefty textbook in hand.

"Okay, ladies." Zig steps forward. "Sorry, Maya, what we want to say is that we're concerned."

"Okay, you're making it worse." She raises her hand for him to stop. "My relationship and its issues are my problem, not yours."

"Do you still want to hang out with us?"

"I'm starting to think I can live without both of you."

"Well, that's just not possible." Jill waves this off, laughing in spite of Maya's seething.

Maya drops the textbook, raises and drops her hands to her sides in defeat.

"Now, this idiot and I can't decide which date would suit you two better—"

"Stop right there. We aren't going on any predetermined dates orchestrated by you two. Not a chance."

"He says he'll do it," Jill reminds her. "He says he'll do anything to make you happy."

Maya groans as she plops back into her seat on the coach, head in hand, eyes closed. Straining to rid herself of the idea, she can't help but think of Cam and how her denying the offer may look as though she might not care enough. And she cares so much, it's only been on her own mind for weeks. Either way, they both had Zig and Jill harassing them until things worked out. "You know, as I'm starting to change my mind about your offer, I'm getting violent flashes of my tenth grade lesson on the Stalin-Hilter Pact. I have no idea how you two are worming into our relationship again, but, hell, what's your plan?"

Jill jumps to the seat vacant next to her. "Okay, I'm thinking we need you to go shopping for something a little less drab, and a little more glitz. And absolutely no combat boots this time."

"What about my idea?" Zig joins them, ecstatic. "I was thinking throwback, Degrassi style."

When Maya looks up, peeking through one eye, she is admittedly curious. She plays Jill's words over and over again, _he says he'll do anything to make you happy_, and tells herself it's the only reason she's agreeing to their manic plans.

* * *

**February 14, 2016**

Jill almost always has her way, and her way has currently won a best out of ten attempts game of rock-paper-scissors. On Valentine's day, Jill has Maya choosing her romantic date at the Chez Celine, which happens to be a formal jacket-and-frock dress-coded, reservation-only, dine-in sort of affair.

After several minutes of re-primping with Jill, since Maya had the smart idea of rubbing her eyes, effectively smearing her mascara, her look is complete. "I feel ridiculous that you're dressing me. I'm more than capa—"

"Honey, your idea of dressing up is some out-dated summer dress, those God-awful dotted tights, and those equally icky combat boots. You're not going to one of your hippie congregations-"

"That was an outdoor concert."

"Whatever."

"Cam likes how I dress."

"That's because Cam hasn't seen you wear this." Jill turns her on her high heels to show her reflection in the full length mirror. "Yeah. Definitely. I'd do you too."

Maya snorts. But, she has to admit that this is one of Jill's better attempts at dressing her. Jill is extremely happy about it too, because she's allowing Maya to brush gently through her long, wavy hair as it tumbles across her shoulders. Then Maya moves from side to side to inspect the lithe silhouette the little black dress has made on her body, and she offers Jill a smile as she gestures over the curves its accentuating. Even her minimal makeup, with its subtle pearlescent sheen on her lids and blush red shade on her lips is a compromise to Jill's usual, extreme experiments on her, and it suits her. It's when Jill starts excitedly speculating Cam's reaction that Maya starts to look at her reflection differently, wondering if this is what it will take to make things feel right with Cam, if Jill's tips ripped from her Cosmo subscription will allow them to enjoy alternative ways to enjoy each other's company.

Instructions on the Cosmo pages instruct her to wear this, touch here instead, whisper this and that, and none of it are things or words she'd normally share with Cam. In fact, none of it feels like it will be remotely comfortable. Suddenly, she's itching in the cotton blend of Jill's borrowed dress.

"Maya," she hears Cam by her doorway, and then sees him pausing at her doorway's threshold. "Wow…just…_wow_…"

"Right?" Jill dances around Maya. "Right?!"

"Wow right back at you." Maya grins widely.

Maya admires the view of Cam as well. He's dressed in an almost black, navy blue suit that's tapered to his build, and his hair is styled in a way she's sure he had spent a longer time than he'd like to admit, which reminds her of some magazines ads hairstyles she had spied him secretly collecting in his washroom of which looked uncannily similar to his own current style. She grins when he notices her staring. She has a sneaking suspicion that Jill's influence has much to do with his attire as it does on her own, especially as Jill moves to fix his tie.

"Beat it." Maya swats Jill off him, but adds a smiley reply, "Thank you."

"Hi," he greets her, and kisses her.

"Hi," she replies when he pulls away. "Well, this isn't weird."

"It's not."

"Not at all." She can't help but let out a bubbling fit of laughter. "Jill…"

Jill comes out of with a flurry of flashes, her phone capturing their stunned and annoyed glares. Though, before Maya moves, Cam takes hold of her.

"If we let her, it'll pass," he advises, sighing.

"I feel like I'm being sent off to my senior prom." Maya blinks rapidly as Jill's camera assaults them with a closer shot, and Jill dodges her open hand trying to grab at her.

"I promise it won't be as painful as that."

"Promise?"

"Well, besides the fact that you can't wear those dancing shoes if you don't save me a dance."

"I think I can deal with that." She smirks.

The dealing part wasn't supposed to be an actual thing though. Only, when they get to Chez Celine, she can tell he's also wondering their place in this restaurant, with its unfamiliar jazz music, candelabra-lit table, complete with snobby waiter who scoffed at their 'pedestrian' choices in meals (as he put it not so discreetly).

"How was your, um, what did you get again?" He asks her, pointing his fork at her dish.

"Um, Coq-au-vin. It was good. And, your—"

"Some sort of beef and greens. And I don't have to remind you how I still butcher the language, so I won't even try," he laughs. "It's fine though."

"Boeuf Bourguignon," she enunciates slowly.

"Boeuf—" he starts to imitate in an airy accent.

"Would the lady like a glass of wine?" The waiter interjects.

She reviews the wine list, and her eyes bug out because the prices are even steeper than she anticipated. He nods encouragingly for her to pick one, but she shakes her head. Expectedly, the waiter rolls his eyes and snatches the wine list back.

"Asshole," he mumbles into his drink. "Don't worry about it. By dessert time, I'll ask for another server."

"Forget it," she says, mouth twitching.

"Hey, ready for that dance?" He asks, taking hold of her fingers that are trying to peel at the dessert menu's tattered corner.

She looks up to see that he's so eager, and even though the idea of Chez Celine is rapidly wearing off for her, she pushes through and nods. So, he takes her to the dance floor, and she lets the music calm her because it's playing something soothing and his hands are warm in her hand and on the small of her back.

"This is nice…" She says over his shoulder as he lets her head rest here. "Better."

"I take it back."

Her head rises. "Come again?"

"If I had gone to Prom with you, it wouldn't be too bad."

"Oh, yeah?"

"It wouldn't be painful at all, actually."

"No?" Maya feigns ignorance.

"Nope."

"Would you bring me a corsage?"

"It would be blue. For your eyes."

"Limo?"

"Just my car."

"I do love your car."

"And I'd promise your parents that I'd bring you back before a very generously extended curfew of one o'clock."

"Would we get into a last minute fight about a puck bunny trying to steal you away, or, I know, get Dallas to slip some extra votes for those coveted King and Queen titles? Oh, wait, before all of that, I need those couple poses perfected, behind that awful blob of what they think is colour on a backdrop, for my scrapbook."

He laughs at this, and affectionately pinches at her ears before kissing her cheek. "Maya, I wouldn't even have you look this good in this dress or need any of that stuff to make prom for me. I wouldn't even need a reason like prom to have a night I'd never forget with you."

Her smile relaxes, because she's waiting on his pensive expression.

"There were some days at school that I thought I couldn't make it through the day." He starts cautiously. "One time, I was in the library trying and failing to get my homework done and I couldn't believe how lonely and how much my depression was weighing down on me that day, and then you walked in. This was when we first started talking, by the way. So, all I did was just watch you with your friends. You were laughing so much, and you'd think I'd be jealous, that I'd want you to notice how miserable I was so you'd stop and feel sorry for me. But, I remember you waving to me, and I did this awkward delayed wave when you turned around. It was embarrassing, but you were smiling my way, so I didn't care. Somehow all I felt was better just knowing you. All day I felt a little lighter. I never needed much when it came to you…I always just needed you."

She bites her bottom lip, sobering. "This place—this date—"

"You're having a good night, right?"

"I—"

The music halts and screeches, as if it's being ripped from a record player . In its place, staccato notes fill the room, and music that reminds her of a telenova program she caught her mother watching one Sunday afternoon on a foreign channel surrounds them. The crowd parts as they realize this music too.

Unsure, they stay frozen in their embrace until another couple strides past them, swirling in precise and dramatic movements. Once the dancing couple starts dipping and spinning faster around them, they quickly jump out of the way and join the crowd to watch, gaping openly at the performance that others are whispering is staged for the restaurant's Valentine's Day entertainment.

The duo, glittering in coordinated costumes (the woman is dressed in a cherry, low-cut dress that has a slit skimming her middle thigh down to her ankles, while the man is in a black suit with a red waistband that's been stripped of its jacket, his dress shirt open and gaping at its front), are spectacular. _Spectacularly limber_, she notes as the man dips her to the sound of the salsa's music break and then lifts her. And as they cling to each other, she gulps, watching as hands are everywhere, and it's as if she can feel the heat pressed into each touch. When she lifts her hand to the back of her neck, she feels a slick layer of sweat that's formed there.

"May, do you wanna get out of here?" Cam stirs her out of her daze, possibly noticing her uncomfortable stance, and she turns to him, wondering if he can feel the unbearable heat that she feels radiating from the skin he's grazing.

"I—yes—can you take me home?"

He's taken aback, and she realizes that he must've meant for them to leave and find something else to do. "Uh, sure."

So, when they walk hand in hand, closing in on her apartment door, she has to apologize. "I'm sorry, Cam, I'm just not feeling well." She doesn't mean to lie.

She can tell he's trying his best to read her, and if she allows him to see her on closer inspection for too long, he will. She kisses him deeply, humming in contentedness, hoping he will feel how much of her she's giving him.

He must know, because he's still holding her close when they part. "You know—"

"I know," she admits, sighing, playing with his tie. "It'll get better—"

"_You know_," he interrupts. "Zig has this crazy plan for us next weekend. Should I wear any protective gear or make a call to my hockey team's legal team and warn them?"

She sees him a bit more clearly, pushing through another haze, realizing that he's willing her to see his smile, firm and unwavering. "Better safe than sorry," she tells him, a small smile surfacing.

"Or I might just risk it. 'Cause," he pauses to emphasize a deep furrow of his dark brows, his eyes squinting, brooding, "If lovin' you is wrong, baby I don't wanna be right."

She shakes her head, snorting. "God, you will never let the _Cheese_ down."

"Not on your life."

She hugs him close, staying still longer so he wraps his arms around her until looks up to say, "You're all I need too, you know."


End file.
